The Locket
by Some Historian
Summary: An alternate take on the events of Mockingjay. The premise is that Katniss, Finnick, and Beetee were captured by the Capitol, while Peeta and Johanna were recovered by the District 13 hoverplane at the end of Catching Fire. Peeta POV.
1. Chapter 1

I look at the bakery oven. I remember that before we left for the Capitol it still needed to be cleaned. Not like there's any way to tell that now. There's so much ash where the bakery used to be there's no way of knowing what came from the bread and what came from, well, everything else. My father told me that the oven is even older than the first rebellion. I believe him now. It's a survivor. Like me.

If it weren't for the oven I doubt I could have found my old house at all. Every building has been completely obliterated. What few landmarks District 12 had that would allow me to orient myself is gone, with one exception. The Victor's Village. My new house. I have no idea why. Maybe they just figured that some shelter had to be left behind. I can see the cruelty a person would feel, trapped in the middle of a snowstorm, to find the ruins of District 12 and die there because there was nowhere to hide. I'm sure I'm giving the Capitol too much credit.

District 13 didn't want me to head back, but they didn't try very hard to stop me. I'm told I was very inconsolable. My first reaction on waking up was confusion. If the Capitol had me, then why wasn't I restrained somehow? I stumbled out of my bed with nothing but a hospital gown, feeling around until I heard Haymitch speaking with Johanna and the man I soon recognized as Plutarch Heavensbee, the Head Gamemaster. I didn't say anything when I got into the room. They knew what it was I wanted to hear. They wouldn't say anything. That was when I realized the worst. I remember Haymitch coming over, trying to shake me, but I don't know what he said. Maybe he was trying to explain, but I didn't have the ability to pay attention anymore.

It wasn't until days later when they found Delly that I could muster the strength to even remember anything anymore. She had nothing to do with the Games, the Capitol, the Rebellion. And she was so glad to see me, just for the sake of seeing me, that I couldn't let her down by just continuing to be catatonic. She explained everything. How District 12 was firebombed, how Gale managed to lead everyone out to the lake. How except for her, everyone I had known from since before the Games started was dead. If Haymitch had told me I wouldn't have believed him. But the genuine pain I felt from Delly, the tears she fought back while she tried to tell me, let me know that it was all true. I might have lapsed back then and there, but right before she lost control, head fell on my chest and she managed to tell me what I needed to hear-

"It wasn't your fault, Peeta. It wasn't your fault."

It's not true, of course. But hearing it from her let me believe it long enough that I could pull myself back together. So that I could see for myself what I had done.

There's no rain, no wind, nothing except the bristling of ash next to my feet as I walk. I try as best as I can to avoid looking at all the death around me. I've already seen plenty. I head to the Victor's Village. I don't know if I'll ever get another chance to come back here, so if there's anything useful still around now's the time to grab it.

I stop at Katniss' house, and shudder at the memories. She said that this was where President Snow confronted her, warned her to lay off the rhetoric of rebellion lest he kill us all. I don't think she was trying to provoke anything, but she has trouble being dishonest about her feelings. I feel like I should hate her for telling me that what happened in the Arena was a lie, but it's hard to stay mad at someone who's been trying so hard to save your life.

My only solace right now is that we know she hasn't been executed yet. President Snow would have made an announcement. He can't very well force Panem to watch the execution, what with the districts being in revolt, but we wouldn't have any choice. We'd all be glued to the screen, praying for a miracle to come in and swoop her away to safety. That's when the reality would hit. That the fate for all traitors is death. No exceptions.

Well, there is one other thing that almost makes me feel better. It turns out my rescue was an accident. The priorities for the retrieval were Katniss and Beetee. She's the Mockingjay, and Beetee is a genius. The rest of them in the Arena were all glorified bodyguards. That they protected me, too, was only incidental, since they knew Katniss wouldn't go on if I were killed. So here I am, still alive and not particularly useful to the cause. I agreed to see District 13's President Coin once I was finished with the trip, but I can't imagine what it is that she wants from me. The revolution must be in a lousy spot right now. They've got Lover Boy without a lover and Johanna, who as near as I can tell hates just about everyone rebels included. We're not going to be very inspirational to anyone. At least Finnick had a good love story, but he's stuck with Katniss and Beetee in the Capitol, almost certainly experiencing torture more horrific than I have the stomach to imagine.

I hear a sound from Katniss' house. Curious, I head in, and find a greatly agitated, annoyed yellow tomcat staring back at me. Buttercup. I remember him- Prim's cat. I could tell from the way Katniss looked at him that she thought he was the ugliest thing she had ever seen. I didn't mind so much, though, because of the memories. The bakery was one of the few places in town where a cat was justified. A few mice could ruin business by nibbling into the food, making it worthless. I was young and my memories are hazy- I don't remember our cat's name, or even if she had a name, but she was grey, tired, and a great hunter. I was amazed at how happy she was in a place like District 12. One time she killed a rodent and I just watched her eat it, clearly very pleased with herself. Always head first. Sometimes she left the hindquarters behind, as a lesson to other mice.

Before I saw Katniss for the first time, maybe a few month or so earlier, the cat got pregnant. My mother was furious when she gave birth. Usually, I found out later, you only drowned the kittens when this happened, for population control, but she was so furious that she forced the cat underwater, too, choking the life out of her. The cat died watching her feeble kittens, who hadn't even opened their eyes yet, drown to death, too. We never got another cat.

Buttercup looks at me indifferently. He doesn't seem to have any idea what's going on. I know Prim's back at District 13, so I say her name. His ears perk up and he moves in close. Suddenly I have no idea what to do. I decide to grab some things while I'm here. I dig through the closet and grab a bag. I toss some clothes in, a few pictures, a few books. I find the one that I made together with Katniss. I'm not sure I want to take it, but I toss it in anyway, trying to avoid looking at it.

I go to my house thinking I'll do the same thing, but quickly realize that there really isn't anything I care about in there. A few suits are a nice contrast to the drab things we wear in District 13, but that's really about it. Everything I cared about went up with the bakery. There wasn't much point keeping any of that stuff where I live. Of course, the same can be said of my family. Even if I had my own house, I always figured I could just go home for the homey stuff. So much for that.

I have to be glib to get through the pain of losing nearly everyone I knew. It comforts me somewhat to realize that it was better my family than Katniss'. I miss my family, but Katniss would be destroyed if anything happened to her mother and sister. Of course, there are plenty more ways she can be destroyed at this point.

Right when I'm about to leave Buttercup's ears flare up and he goes running up the stairs to the study, a room I can never remember using. He's looking up at the table, ears peeled back, hissing angrily. I don't understand what he's doing, and I'm only more confused when I see a single solitary flower sitting in a vase, one which I'm sure I've drawn before. I take out the book, taking care not to read anything except the flower's name. It's a wild prairie rose. Buttercup is still hissing. I decide to inspect it. I get close to take in a good whiff, but stop halfway through from sheer shock. I try it again without flinching, because what's happened doesn't make any sense to me.

The flower smells like Katniss.


	2. Chapter 2

I stare at the flower, uncomprehending. Was it some sort of message? If it was I have no way of guessing what it was supposed to mean. They already have Katniss. What more do I need to know?

Buttercup hisses at it for a little longer, letting his ears lie flat on his head, but after a few minutes he seems to decide that the flower simply isn't that interesting and starts to yawn. I decide that he has the right idea. My ignorance has always been my greatest weapon against the Capitol. If I'd known that Katniss' feelings to me were ambiguous, I might have actually tried to kill her. If I'd known that the Districts were on the cusp of revolt I never would have tried to pull that stunt in District Eleven. It's too bad President Snow didn't try threatening me. I might have been paying attention.

I go outside walking back to the center of the ruined District, figuring that at some point the hover-plane will realize I want to leave. It doesn't take very long for it to materialize. A hard-faced middle-aged soldier with a large gun scowls at me from the side as it lands. I soon realize that he's not looking at me, but at Buttercup, who's staring at the hoverplane's door expectantly. I keep forgetting about all the arcane rules in District Twelve. I'm pretty sure I've never seen anything resembling a pet there. It's hard to imagine what use they would have for a cat. Cats eat things that you don't want, and District Twelve has no comprehension of such a concept.

"Look," I say, thinking quickly. "I know it's a little strange, but he's the whole reason I came out here. I thought they would have mentioned it."

He looks at me, still scowling, but now a little more uncertain. I hear a peppy voice coming from behind, clear and unmistakable even over the din of the hoverplane's engines.

"Oh!" cries Delly. "You got Butterscotch! This is wonderful! I was worried that he'd be gone forever!" In exuberance, she pushes past the guard and grabs Buttercup in her arms and starts hugging him before any of us have the faintest idea what's going on. Buttercup has a panicked look on his face, uncertain of whether or not he should be trying to escape. I'm still a little dumbfounded that she could remember enough of his name to get it wrong. When could she have possibly met him? The again, even one encounter would have been enough to set a firm impression in her memory. Delly loves all living things, and as far as cats go Buttercup was by far the healthiest in District Twelve.

"He's a symbol of hope for us in District Twelve," I rattle off quickly. "We always thought that if a mangy cat like Butterscotch could make it through the day, there was nothing stopping the rest of us."

The guard seems unconvinced, but with his expression it's really hard to tell. I steal a glance at Buttercup. He's not believing it either.

"He's like our little Mockingjay," says Delly in a silly sing-song voice aimed at the cat, but loud enough that she can be sure the guard heard it.

He grunts and motions us into the hoverplane. Once he's sealed at the front with the pilot and I'm alone with Delly and Buttercup, she lets him go. He jumps straight out of her arms and runs to the opposite side of the plane, angrily hissing at her.

"Don't worry about it," I say, putting my bag down on the seat next to mine. "He'll like you much better once he figures out that you helped him find Prim."

At the mention of Prim's name again Buttercup calms down. I figure by the time we get back he should be able to stand being carried around again. Delly's fingering a scratch wound, but she doesn't seem too bothered by it. She abruptly realizes that I'm looking at her. "Oh, I'm fine," she says. "You can't let a little thing like a scratch or two get you down."

I find myself increasingly relieved that Delly managed to survive the destruction. Her ability to maintain a positive attitude in the most ridiculous of situations makes me doubt whether the world I live in is really such a brutal horrible place. We chat on the plane about the various ins and outs of District Thirteen. I would like to avoid making a major social error when I go to see President Coin, so I treat Delly's words like a last-minute study guide for an important exam. After an hour or so we land in District Thirteen. I know that President Coin is going to want to see me as soon as possible now that I'm back. I watch as the doors to the hoverplane open, neither anticipating nor dreading whatever it is she plans to say to me.

"Well," says Delly, "if you're busy I can take Butterscotch to Prim and your things to your room. Is that all right?"

"Just take everything to Prim for now," I say. "Tell her that I'll probably be by later to take the things she can't use, like my suits. " She's about to open her mouth, and I anticipate her next words. "Don't try to divide them by yourself. I'm still not sure what I want to take with me yet."

She looks a little hurt. I don't think it's because of me, but rather the fact that she's going to have to return to her regularly scheduled duties. The regimented lifestyle of District Thirteen is the only thing she'll even allow herself to hint at complaining about.

"Well," she says, brightening up again, "enjoy your meeting." She scoops up Buttercup and the bag, then proceeds walks out the plane with such a confident air that none of the guards question why she's carrying a live animal into the compound. Buttercup stares back at me, making it clear that unless he likes what he sees at the end of this tunnel he's taking it out on me personally.

I walk with a few guards in strict silence down a long path of corridors. I try to memorize what few landmarks exist on these paths so that I can get around later. Without even realizing it I find myself starting to think of it in terms of combat situations. If a Capitol soldier leaps out of the room on the left, I duck behind the guard to my right and grab his gun. If I feel the ground moving I need to stop and wait to see what's going on. If something comes from behind…well, there's nothing I can do about that, so I keep looking over my shoulder to make sure no one takes me by surprise. It isn't until we get to Coin's office that I realize I'm not in any danger. At least, as far as I know.

Coin's office is very spare and functional, just what I would expect from the President of District Thirteen. She motions for me to take a seat, and has the guards leave. I panic briefly, not having expected that I would be alone with her. I thought that there would at least be an advisor or something. She leans forward, hands on the desk, making sure that I get a good look at her face. It's wispy and aged, but in a fine confident way that makes me want to listen to her.

"Peeta," she says calmly, stoically. "There's three things I need to tell you. You can ask as many questions as you like, but I think most of them will be answered if you're just careful and listen to me explain everything. The first thing you need to know is that the decision to make Katniss first priority was not made unanimously. I thought that we should have gone after you instead."

I stare at her unblinking. The way she says it it's as if she thought I would disbelieve her. I almost do, except I can't think of any reason why she would lie about this. This reaction dulls my next impulse, which is to hit her as hard as I can for suggesting that I'm more important than Katniss.

She continues before my emotions can get much farther than that. "The second is that yes, Peeta, you are important. You do matter. Katniss is the Mockingjay, there's no doubt about that. But Mockingjays are beautiful because they can sing. She may have been the fire, but you were the spark. Ask yourself something. Would there have been a revolution if it had been some other boy? I saw your interviews with Flickman. You know how to talk to a crowd. You took a simple boyhood crush and turned it into a statement on the inhumanity of the Hunger Games."

That part hadn't been so difficult. I'd rehearsed in my head so many times how one day, just one day, I would finally have the guts to talk to Katniss, but I never could manage it. Then one day I was going to day, and in front of a live audience with countless people I spilled my heart out. My mind catches up to the remark about this "boyhood crush". I now have a very strong urge to strike her, and start to clench my fists. As if anticipating my feelings, she's started talking again.

"What's left is that recovering Katniss is now our number one priority. We've already assembled a strike team. We know exactly where she's being held. She's under heavy guard, and they know we want her back. What we need is a distraction. Something big and dangerous enough in this war that they'll lower their guard, for just a minute, just long enough to force our way inside and get her back. For this, we need you, Peeta."

I unclench my fists. This possibility had never occurred to me. Could District Thirteen really be strong enough, that they could get Katniss back before the Capitol kills her, or worse? Coin moves back into her chair, making herself taller, showing power, confidence, and belief. All in me.

"Now," she says, "do you have any questions?"

I stare down at my hands. She was right about my questions already being answered. I know everything I need to about the current situation. That leaves only one unanswered query. I look up, straight into her eyes.

"What do you want me to do?"


	3. Chapter 3

Coin has to give me a great deal of background information so that I can have any idea of what exactly the plan is, and how I'm supposed to be of any use to it.

"It's really quite simple. Do you remember your Mockingjay locket?"

There wasn't any real way I could forget that. It's the only meaningful physical possession I have left. Delly told me that while I was unresponsive to any human interaction, my hand was firmly grasped around that locket, unwilling to let it go for any reason. I still haven't looked inside it, though, since I showed it to Katniss. I have to hold onto it, but I don't think I could take the memories right now. I nod my head to Coin. She continues.

"It's a symbol of the rebellion now, too. People started stockpiling what few pictures of their loved ones they had. Peacekeepers have been given instructions to destroy any such mementos on site. They're a powerful motivator."

"Right, sure," I say, not sure where this is going. "But I already did that."

She shakes her head. "These mementos only resonate because it makes them realize how the life of all people in the Districts is so very much like your own. You thought you were going to die, but you accepted that because you focused on the people you could save. They need to see you, Peeta. They need to see you and realize that there is a genuinely good nobility that they can aspire to."

"So you want me to go on a victory tour?"

"Oh no, nothing that dangerous," she bristles. Probably thinking about the trouble it was just to let me visit a District that's already been destroyed. "We want to put you back on screen."

I think for a moment, not really comprehending. "How? The Capitol controls all the broadcasts. Isn't that the whole point?"

She sighs, resting her hand on her forehead. I get the impression that she didn't want to explain this next part to me. Not because there was anything horrible in it that would make me doubt the rebellion, but because there's no simple way to explain this specific part of the rebel strategy.

Ten years ago the Capitol commissioned Beetee to do work on the underground network that transmits all of Panem's programming. This was not a voluntary job. Beetee knew that if he refused the Capitol would have no trouble coming up with a gruesome, "accidental" fate to befall either him or someone he cares about. Fortunately, Beetee also knew that the Capitol knew all this, and so they wouldn't be especially suspicious about the kind of work he did or how it was organized, so long as it was good work.

Acting the part of an overly enthusiastic tinkerer overjoyed to have any kind of elaborate task, he set to work upgrading the system. Among the countless innovations he fostered, the main significant one was apparently minor. For security purposes, he decided to wire the twelve districts and the Capitol itself with different interfaces. Transmissions and live feeds are made in a single format then relayed through the network. While this information is being transferred, it is then converted into the format used by the target audience. Districts farther away from the Capitol use various analog formats, while those nearer to the Capitol use various digital formats. Coin explains to me that it gets more complicated than this, but to normal people these are the only obvious differences between the conversions. Analog formats degrade when transmission is interrupted, resulting in worse visual and sound quality. Digital formats look better overall, but interrupted transmissions lose visuals and sound altogether. District 13 reads transmissions in the analog format because they never bothered to upgrade. The Capitol uses a special high-definition digital format of exceptional quality, mainly because Beetee wanted to impress them with the results enough that they wouldn't ask any questions.

Coin asks me if any of this adds up with what I've seen. As one of the few who has actually seen viewing screens in all the Districts and the Capitol, I might be able to tell the difference. Unfortunately I can't. I'm guessing I was too busy being terrorized by the Capitol to pay much attention to the picture quality on the local viewing screens. Coin notes that most of the victors they've asked about this had the same reaction.

I ask the obvious question. What exactly was all this supposed to be a security precaution for? In what situation could it really matter how the visual feeds got anywhere, or how they looked like on arrival, or why the format mattered at all? Coin admits that she has no idea. She's not even sure she's explained it to me correctly; all of this is secondhand from Plutarch, who has a bit of a better idea how the system works. Regardless of how Beetee explained these "security measures" to the Capitol, there's actually one powerful flaw in the system that makes it exploitable. The individual networks in the Districts and the Capitol can't tell where the feeds come from, so they automatically broadcast any visuals that they receive as long as it's in the correct format.

This system is, understandably, a very complicated one. Capitol technicians understand how the networks function to the extent that they can effectively utilize it, but they can't significantly adapt or repair the system on their own. The thirteen personal assistants Beetee had when he was supervising the modifications can, but they're only familiar with the formats they worked on themselves. They likely have no idea about how the system works as a whole or even that the Districts use separate formats to begin with. Beetee alone has full mastery of the system something he knew would come in handy when Panem finally rose up in revolt.

The obvious problem to all of this is that Beetee wasn't here. He was captured, so his technical expertise isn't quite as helpful to the rebellion as he could have hoped. This, too, was planned. There was no way of knowing ahead of time which tributes would escape from the Quarter Quell, so Beetee left Plutarch with a list of names- the thirteen personal assistants who helped Beetee craft the system. Each of them held the information necessary to allow District 13 to broadcast their own messages. In the chaos that ensued during the escape, seven of these assistants were recovered- the ones who did the work for Districts 2, 3, 5, 7, 8, 10, and 11. It's an imperfect situation- some aren't working willingly, and none have Beetee's level of expertise. Regardless, Coin is confident that by the time we have propaganda spots of me inspiring the masses of Panem (she calls them "propos" for short) we should be able to at least temporarily hijack the Capitol's control of broadcasts.

This is a lot to take in, and it makes my head hurt a little bit trying to consider the entirety of this situation. But then I remember why I agreed to this in the first place. If Coin thinks that these propos can save Katniss, then I'll do as many of them as she wants. But I've had a really difficult day, and I'm not feeling particularly motivational right now.

"When do you want to get started?" I asked, trying to hide my discomfort.

"Tomorrow's fine," she said. "I'm sure you're familiar with the daily schedule routine?" There's a harsh undertone to her voice that seems to say "you know, the one you're not following?"

"Right," I say, trying to be conciliatory. "I don't feel as bad as I used to in the hospital. I think I can get started on that tomorrow."

"Well!" she says smiling brightly, though I can't help but feel this is a little fake. "Now that you're out of the hospital it shouldn't be any trouble at all. The device is in your room, which the guards will take you to as soon as you're done speaking to me. Do you have anything else you wish to say to me?"

It occurs to me that I may not have another chance to speak openly to the President of District 13, but I'm tired enough by this point that I don't want to risk listening to another explanation. "I'm fine for now, thank you," I say, forcing a smile as I get up to go.

The soldiers escort me to my room. About halfway there the panic of all the corridors gets to me and I stop. When one of them sternly tells me to keep moving I tell him frankly that I need a map of the complex because the paranoia's getting far too strong for me. I must not have been completely conscious when I walked through these halls before, because now they just terrify me. One of the soldiers is able to produce a map of the complex and tells me where we are. It helps to calm me down. Logically I know that it's unlikely that muttations are going to burst out of the door I can see two hallways away when on my map that room is clearly marked as being math lab. Convincing myself that this is true is more difficult, but I manage.

They leave me in my room. I study my map for a while longer and look over my room. It's small and bare, but oddly enough it doesn't feel that much different from my place back in the Victor's Village. I must admit that I still prefer the Victor's Village to this. On the second story, from above ground, I could see nearly anything coming my way.

I try to shake myself from these distractions. Tomorrow I'm going to start work on saving Katniss. If I'm ever going to succeed at that, I need to put these distractions out of mind. That starts with going to sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

I'm running through the halls of the complex. Muttations are swarming behind me. I can't tell which ones, except that they're tall and furry and that if I try to get a better look at them they'll rip my head off. Everything in the complex is too smooth, too clean. There's no cover, nowhere to hide, no hoping that they'll give up and go away. I keep turning corners, opening doors wherever I can to try and slow them down. I don't bother going inside any of them. Too risky. I could get myself cornered quite easily, and then they'd have me. The doors aren't much of an impediment to anyway. The mutts tear them apart with nothing more than their arms. I can hear them rip from the hinges. I suspect that even if I could lose the mutts, they'd find a way to tear through the walls just to get that bit closer to me.

After countless doors and nondescript passageways I run into a dead end. I'm almost happy. If I lose, then I don't have to run anymore. I force myself to turn around, and finally put the muttations in focus. They're the wolves from the first Hunger Games, but they're not the same ones. They don't have the right eyeballs or the right colored fur. I avoid looking, but they walk so slowly that I have no choice. Cray's there at the front, silver-haired with orange underneath, staring at me lustily. Rooba's right next to him, smaller than the others, but stout, looking ready to carve me up. There's even Madge, bright but nondescript, acting aloof but clearly just as interested as everyone else.

They're pushed aside by four other mutts coming to the front. I know where this is going, and I force my eyes closed, but it's no use. They tackle me, pin my arms down, and force me to take a good look at them. Mom. Dad. My brothers. They all give me accusing glances, but that's nothing compared to what happens next. Black hair. Olive skin. Grey eyes. They got Katniss. She's one of them now. And I, I'm-

Asleep. I rustle weakly against my sheets. The nightmares were terrifying enough to begin with, but then I saw the patterns. My situation is hopeless and familiar. I survive far longer than I expect, then right in front of me, something horrible happens to Katniss.

A doctor from the Capitol explained to me that I'm lucky to have this kind of self-awareness when dreaming. He said that with practice I could control them, maybe turn them into something not so terrible. Plenty of other victors had managed this feat. I was making progress before we went to District Eleven, when Katniss and Haymitch finally admitted to me how much danger we were really in. After that, I lost control. It didn't matter whether I was dreaming or in the real world. Both were just as bad. My only reprieve was when I slept together with Katniss to help her with her nightmares. For that one brief instant on waking up, I could believe that we were in a happier place, that we weren't facing our impending horrific deaths in the real world. It wasn't much, but it was enough.

I check the time. 5:30. I'm up at least an hour early. I lie in my bed, quietly, trying to avoid thinking about anything while waiting for the day to start. I finally crawl out of bed and look around. Someone has helpfully taped instructions next to some device on the wall. The paper looks years old. It's heavily weathered and the ink looks dim. It nearly spooks me into not following the instructions, but I remind myself that if I'm to accomplish anything around here I need to follow the District Thirteen rules. I stick my arm in. It doesn't hurt- I hardly even feel it but I still wince at the feeling of general submission. I look to see what I need to do today. 7:00 – Breakfast.

After asking around I figure out where the mess hall and get some food. I realize once I'm out of line that I don't have the slightest idea where to sit. I awkwardly meander around trying to find some sort of opening when someone stands up, waving at me. It's Delly. Grateful for the excuse, I hurry over to take my seat by her. I realize only too late that Delly's sitting with Prim and her mother.

"So Peeta!" says Delly, apparently oblivious to the situation. "You said you were going to drop by yesterday. What happened?"

I abruptly realize that it's not Delly's fault she's ignorant. The way I told her to bring the bag to Prim yesterday probably made it sounds like I was the best of friends with Prim and her mother. I haven't even seen them since I got back. Whenever I think about them or look at them I can't avoid the feeling that everything that happened was my fault. Letting them have their pick of the supplies I scavenged from the Victor's Village only seemed fair. While I'm trying to think of a way to somehow avoid talking Prim suddenly pipes up.

"Oh, I'm sure it wasn't his fault," she says, very forgivingly. "I hear there's big plans for Peeta, about helping with the revolution. Isn't that right?"

"Right," I say, as gratitude rushes over me. "Lots of big, important plans. Of course, I have no idea what anyone actually expects me to do. It's a pretty big secret, all right."

"Well that's too bad," says Delly, immediately and hurriedly trying to change the topic, probably because there's no positive way to talk about the revolution. "You should have seen Butterscotch once he found Prim! He got so excited he was running around everywhere knocking things down right and left. It was a lot of fun."

I take a look at Prim, wondering why it is that Delly is continuing to use the wrong name for the cat. Prim gives no indication that this is the least bit unusual. I put this matter in the back of my head for now. Prim probably couldn't bear the thought of disappointing Delly by revealing that she failed to recall the actual name of the shining symbol of hope for District Twelve.

"Don't forget, Peeta," says Prim very deliberately, "you do need to come back to collect your things at some point. It would be very wasteful to just leave us with the suits. You might need them."

I nod. My room is unbearably bear right now. The next time the nightmares come I'm going to need something to feel and squeeze, just so I can reassure myself that I'm still alive, and that there's still hope for Katniss.

"Peeta," says Mrs. Everdeen very softly. I'm surprised to hear her speak so suddenly. So is everyone else- apparently until I showed up it was just Delly talking to Prim. "Do you still have it? The locket?"

I needed Mrs. Everdeen's help to make it. There wasn't any way for me to get all those pictures myself- particularly Gale's. It's hard to imagine what I would have said to him. "I'm worried about Katniss, please pose for this picture so I can convince her not to kill herself for my sake"? I nod in assent to her question. She holds her hands out. I take the locket and place it in her hands. For a few minutes she palms it, examining its physical features and looking through the pictures. The rest of us take this lull as a chance to actually eat. All this talking had distracted me, but I'm actually fairly hungry and need my strength to get through the rest of the day. When I'm finished, I see that she's still holding it, but there's this quizzical expression on her face.

"Mrs. Everdeen," I say, "you can hold onto it if you want." I realize that of course this is what the problem is. The locket reminds me of Katniss, but the pictures in there are of her family. It's a memento that should be in the hands of her relatives, not me.

She looks up. "Oh no," she says hurriedly. "I could never do something like that. It's your memento. You better keep it."

It's back in my hands before I know what's happened. Looking at a nearby clock, I see that it's almost time for the next duty shift. For the first time today, I decide to check out the entire schedule printed on my arm. Most of it is pretty mundane. 7:30 – Kitchen Duties. 8:30 – Education Center Room 18. More errands, more school, not much different than daily life in District Twelve. At that point I reach 2:30 – Prepare for Public Announcement.

For a very short period of time that morning, I had genuinely managed to forget the depth of the stakes involved in this conflict. But when I saw that tattoo on my arm, the reality of the situation came rushing back to me. Coin was dead serious about utilizing me. Here I am, barely getting back into the daily grind of life, and already I need to prepare for a spectacle. I don't know why they bothered giving me anything else to do at all. At a time like this, when I'm surrounded by people who I don't know, talking about abstract things I don't care about, there's only one priority my mind can hone in on. This is a war we need to win. I learned everything I need to know in the Hunger Games. The only rule is that at any given time I need to have as many battle plans floating in my head at once as possible.

This public announcement will be the first skirmish. I need to make it count.


	5. Chapter 5

Once the last of my classes ends at 2:30, I'm hurriedly ushered from the learning center by some soldiers I don't recognize to a part of the compound I've never seen before. I don't particularly mind. Class has been an unwelcome distraction for most of the day, interrupting my train of thought every time I get a good idea of what to say. But the reprieve is too short as I find myself led into a rather empty, green room. The only person I notice is Plutarch. He gives the guards a hasty nod and they leave us alone.

He's not a person I particularly want to see right now. I've been told, again and again, that Plutarch is on our side, that not everyone from the Capitol is bad, that he's the reason any of us were able to get out of the Capitol at all. That he also wanted Katniss to be the main priority. But try as I might, all I see is the Gamemaster. The man whose it was to make sure the tributes successfully fought to the death. Even knowing that without him, there may not even be a revolution, he still makes me uneasy. He's very quick and to the point.

"Do you have a plan?"

I stare at him, not entirely comprehending.

"It was on your tattoo. The public event. Have you thought about what you're going to say?"

"...Yes," I say weakly.

He seems relieved. "Well, that's good then. I have planning I need to get to elsewhere. Haymitch said you were pretty good about coaching yourself."

He turned to leave, but he's just left a very obvious question open to me that I can't rightly ignore.

"Where is Haymitch?" I said. "There's a lot riding on this. He usually has something to say to me at a time like this."

Plutarch stops for a moment, carefully contemplating his words.

"Haymitch is helping with the presentation. He said you'd be fine on your own, but I wanted to be sure."

Before I have a chance to say anything else he's already left the room. The trust that these strangers have in me is frankly amazing. Of course, it's not like I'm in any position to question that. I can't imagine a version of me that's not fully dedicated to this mission.

As I consider this I see something in my peripheral vision and quickly spin around just in time to catch the sound of slow, methodical clapping. I'm not sure if it's sarcastic at first, but I lose all doubts when I see her.

Johanna looks every bit as mean-tempered as she did during the Quarter Quell, with a smile to match the sound of her hands. Her hair is still short, but better combed than I remember. Her outfit is very black, though, and militaristic. I realize that I would have been terrified of her in the Quarter Quell if that had been her introductory outfit.

"You know," she says, finally stopping with the clapping. "He's lying about Haymitch. Oh, I'm sure he's busy, but really, he's just scared to see you."

"Why is that?"

"Thinks he failed you. Promised you that he'd get Katniss out, and he failed. Doesn't expect you to forgive him, you know stuff like that." She shrugs. "Not that he actually talks like that or anything. But nobody believed him when he said you'd be fine thinking of a speech on your own."

Her tone is so strangely guarded that I have a lot of trouble telling which parts of her own words she even believes. "I like your outfit," I say, trying to think of something to say.

"That's not surprising," she says, leaning back and forth, modeling it slightly. "They designed this for Katniss. It's not the exact same suit. I could probably have fit into it, but they designed it for someone likable."

I wince at the mention of Katniss. Johanna catches on immediately.

"Oh, what's the matter lover boy?" she says, deliberately walking closer. "Did I bring up an unpleasant memory?" Her head has reached up to only a few inches away from my face. I think that if she didn't spend so much effort looking so cruel, she could actually be pretty.

She backs up and turns around."Well, don't pretend like you aren't disappointed. Everyone else is, but they try so hard that it's just annoying."

We stand there for a moment in silence. I'm trying to decide how much of her attitude is an act and how much of her really does just hate everything. Katniss didn't trust her, but it always seemed to me that if she were really this mean and unhinged, she would never have agreed to an alliance in the first place. To the audience it probably seemed like she was just waiting for the chance to kill all of us in a moment of unwitting weakness. That probably helped Plutarch pretend that nothing funny was going on. Johanna was just a time bomb waiting to go off.

"Hey," she whispers very softly, slightly looking over her shoulder.

I'm cautious, but inch a bit closer. "What is it?"

She turns around to face me directly, determined. "Coin's priority is first to cripple the Capitol, and then to kill Snow. It just so happens that that's what I want, too." For all her bravado I can see the faint trace of tears coming from her wide, still threatening eyes. "I never ask anyone for anything. It's never worked before. But I need you to give everything you have to helping this war. Please." She's remembering something. I wish I had some idea what, but she doesn't look like she wants to tell me.

"I will."

There's a faint smile. "They're going to call you out soon. I'll leave you some time with your own thoughts here. Don't forget to put on your clothes," she says, motioning to some folded fabric lying on a table.

With that Johanna leaves. I take a look at the clothes. They're the same ones I wore for the Quarter Quell, well, almost. These are nicer, shinier, more photogenic, but unmistakably those of a survivor. I wondered why no one recognized me in class earlier in the day. With these there won't be any mistaking of anything.

I get dressed, and consider what I'm going to talk about. I don't know much about the format or presentation, but I know what will work best. I need to talk about escaping, finding something to live to fight for. That's what I've been doing for the past several days, so by now I'm nearly an expert. I'm still thinking these thoughts as soldiers usher me out to the stage. A cheer rises up to greet my appearance. I smile and wave to the crowd while still thinking carefully about what I'm going to say next. I know the moment comes when the cheering masses finally quiet down. I feel the glean from the camera up in the back, feel the hard wood of the podium in front of me, see the microphone, and know that it's time to give them a show.

"I've been told," I say, pausing deliberately, "that there's a war going on. This probably sounds remarkable to all of you watching there at home, enduring attacks and brutality from the Capitol. But here's the funny thing. I've spent a fair amount of time in the Capitol, as you all well know, and we never heard anything about that. There were always these mysterious supply shortages." I prop up my hands and wiggle my fingers while drawing out the syllables. The crowd was tepid before, but now they're at least chuckling.

"No, it's really great," see, I wrack my mind trying to remember which Districts are likely to actually hear this broadcast. "When gadgets stopped coming in from District Three, it was because the trains weren't running on time. With District Eight, one day everyone just ran out of needles. I think for District Eleven they blamed it on a horde of vicious locusts." This last one gets clear laughs from the crowd. I look down on my podium at put my hands up before looking back to the crowd again.

"My point is, the Capitol underestimates us time and again. The rank and file citizens of the Capitol think we're just happy little elves building wonderful toys that they can enjoy time and time again. They lack the comprehension" I say, focusing emphasis on this word, "necessary to understand just how dangerous we really are."

A wild cheer rises from the crowd. I know that this is the point where I have to run into the closer I've been avoiding thinking about all day. The Quarter Quell. The locket. I take it out and let the audience take a good long look at it before I get started.

"The Capitol was right when they said that the greatest proof of their dominance would be to force the strongest to fight each other. Where they failed is that they don't know what real strength is. I would have died in my first Hunger Games without Katniss. She's the one who gave me a reason to live. Not the promise of a victory parade. Not the privilege of living in an empty house. Not the indulgence of extra food supplies, which, I might add, they took away on a whim and forced District Twelve into starvation the minute it became convenient for their campaign of terror." I say all this with a deliberate, intense feeling of irony.

I take a deep breath. "We thought our lives were over when the Quarter Quell was announced, but we wouldn't believe that. We wouldn't give up. I knew that Katniss would go to any lengths to save me. That's why I got the help I needed to make this locket." I have no idea if the camera can actually see the pictures, but I open it up and flip through them anyway. "These are our strength. The people in our lives. The people we love. We are not in this fight for ourselves, but to make this world a better place for those who deserve it. The ones who worked hard for everything they had! For the ones that deserve it!"

An enormous cheer rises. I wait for just the right minute, when it's just soft enough that I'm sure they can all still hear me, for my final parting words. Right as they come to my lips, I freeze. They feel unnatural in my mouth, and I can immediately see the reason why.

I was planning on telling the crowd that these were the reasons I gave Katniss the locket, and that these memories of our loved ones are what we all deserve. That leaves a problem. The last I remember seeing the locket, I had given it to Katniss. So how is it that right now, the locket is here with me?


	6. Chapter 6

I walk through the crowd in a daze. Fortunately my natural reactions take over- a smile, a wave, and an occasional hug. Once I'm through with that I run right into my security detail, and they obligingly crowd around, taking me to wherever it is I'm supposed to go next.

In the relative silence of these soldiers I try to contemplate the meaning of all this. The logical conclusion is that there must be something wrong with my memories. This was something else the Capitol doctor warned me about. Many previous victors have unreliable memories about their time in the games. Most can't cope with the stress of watching the footage, and as victors are sole survivors, they don't have anyone else to use as a reference. He actually suggested I was fortunate in that I could verify what happened to me by talking to Katniss. The sheer stupidity of this suggestion nearly made me laugh. I couldn't bring up such horrible experiences with her. Especially not now.

In any event, the best proof I have that my memories are flawed is that no one else seems to have noticed any continuity errors. The crowd was every bit as excited. And when I finally start paying attention again, I've found myself in a strategy room where everyone seems in high spirits. I don't recognize most of them- it just looks like the associated confidantes of Plutarch. I glance at my tattoo. 4:30- Propaganda Strategy Meeting. I wonder why we're having this meeting after the speech and not before, but Plutarch answers that quickly with a call to order.

"All right everyone," he says, lightly pounding the table. "I think we can all agree that what we saw out there was very good. We have our surviving victors. We have our call to arms. We have leadership. The question right now is what we can do with all this. What's the status on outgoing transmissions?"

A thick, brusque man with a hard voice stands up. "We've been able to confirm that Districts Three, Five, Seven, and Eleven are all receiving signals. Districts Eight and Ten are unconfirmed, but should work. The man from District Two still isn't cooperating. Sooner or later we'll crack him."

He sits down as Plutarch starts nodding his head. "Good, good. Where are we on editing? I'd just as soon broadcast the event in its entirety- it was all great material, but what are we prioritizing on editing?"

A woman near to Plutarch starts talking. "Peeta's jokes were good material, I think. My first thought when he delivered them was that we could edit them so that it sounds like he's talking about specific districts. It could be a good call to arms, and we could avoid inconsistencies by interweaving stock footage utilizing the imagery he describes."

I decide at this point that whatever they're talking about is far beyond me and stop paying attention. Occasionally someone does look to me, as if asking for my approval. I try to vary my responses between "sounds reasonable", "sure," and "I guess". No one seems to notice that I'm not contributing to the conversation, but there don't seem to be any more expectations for me, at least for today.

At one point continuity comes up. I come to attention quickly, but I soon realize that they're only discussing more editing techniques. I try to take a better look around the room. My eyes meet Johanna's. She gives me a wink and a thumb up, as if she had spent this whole meeting just waiting for me to look at her. I look a little longer and see Haymitch, but he's avoiding my gaze.

Shortly before the meeting adjourns I'm given a piece of paper. Plutarch tells me to look it over tonight so that come next meeting, I can tell them what I think about possible future propos opportunities. There are several different kinds of handwriting on it. Some are so small I can barely read them while others are normal size. At least, I think they're normal size but they look gigantic compared to the small writing. I agree, and finally get a chance to take my leave.

My tattoo now reads 6:00- Reflection. After that there's dinner, and after that I'm apparently supposed to spend the rest of the night just analyzing this piece of paper and coming up with opinions. I wonder where I'm supposed to write them down- no one's given me any paper yet, and I'm not sure I have anything to write with either.

Regardless of this, I need some rest. I take out my map and get back to my room, but standing right at the door is Delly.

"Good job today!" she says, giving me a big hug. I'm surprised she's the only one here considering the strong reaction my speech received, but then I realize she's the only person in the compound who knows where I live. Then, just as abruptly as the hug, she grabs my hand.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

"Come on!" she says, pulling. "You still haven't gotten your suits yet! Do you really want to go to dinner dressed like that?"

It seems unlikely that I'd be allowed in the mess hall dressed in anything besides the standard uniforms, but now that she mentions it, I really don't want to wear my Quarter Quell clothing any longer than I have to, and I don't know if they put my uniform back in my room. This thought so predominates my thinking that it's not until we're at the door that I realize where Delly is taking me. She knocks, Prim opens up, and we're quickly invited in.

Their room is slightly less bare than my own, but I see that a lot of the decorations are just things I brought from their house. There is a chair that Mrs. Everdeen is sitting in, but I think it's like that I just didn't notice it. Probably the same with the viewing screen set against the wall. There's also Buttercup, whose muddy yellow fur is a stark contrast to the very clean apartment. He regards me casually. As soon as we've sat down, Prim has my suits and has laid them on my lap.

"These are more important than you think," she says. "There's not much fabric here, and most of it is rationed. They might be important."

"Well, thank you," I say, feeling silly. Neither Prim nor Mrs. Everdeen has really done much for me, at least recently. I feel like an intruder coming into their apartment like this, even at Delly's insistence. If either of them finds this awkward they're not showing it.

"I liked your speech," says Mrs. Everdeen. "It's good to actually see people from District Twelve involved in this war. A lot of it has just been District 13 and defectors from the Capitol."

"Well," says Delly, "let's be fair. That's practically everyone who's here right now. Everyone else fighting the war is doing it somewhere else."

I consider this. It's possible this whole propaganda arm of the rebellion was just waiting for me to say something to see what direction they could take things. The Capitol never spared any effort making sure we understood the situation as it was. The rebellion has to make up a new script, and they can't afford to mess it up.

The viewing screen turns on. Judging by everyone's surprise, I don't think they've seen it do that before. I quickly realize why. Caesar Flickerman appears on the stage and sitting next to him, without a doubt, is Katniss. My heart skips a beat, and I clutch the arm of my chair. She doesn't look good, but not like she usually does when she's feeling ill. Normally she gives off a tired look, but now she's drowsy.

"So," says Caesar. His demeanor is very calm and serious. "Some of you may have heard Peeta has been captured by the rebellion. Earlier today he gave a statement urging Panem to go to war. He used his…" he says this with a deliberate pause, "'relationship' with Katniss to justify open war. Katniss here has agreed to an interview to help set the record straight on some of these facts".

"Katniss," he says carefully, "tell the audience what you told me before we came on just now."

She turns to the camera, coughing. "I was just saying," she says, trying hard not to look straight at the camera. It's really a very strange gesture. It's not like she's uncertain about what she's going to say, but as if she's scared to let someone look at her eyes. "It was all a lie."

Caesar pauses carefully. "What do you mean?"

She starts up again, slightly more haggard than before. "I mean the thing. Between me and Peeta," she says hurriedly. "It was just a ploy, so we could get out of the Hunger Games without killing each other."

She looks uncertain. Caesar motions to her. "Please go on."

"We pretended to be in love to save ourselves and our families," she sniffs loudly. "The whole thing was just a joke. We were waiting for the cameras to leave so we could go back to our normal lives. I used to be a poacher. I hunted wild animals in the illegal zone of District Twelve. That's why I know how to use a bow. Peeta just helped me when I was young and my family was starving. That's all. People do that…did that for each other all the time in District Twelve."

Caesar pauses again. "What about your marriage? The pregnancy?"

She shakes her head violently. "All lies. All trying to get public support. All trying to undermine the Capitol. That's all we cared about doing. I was never pregnant. Peeta just thought that would play well, would make the Capitol the villain." She snorts, and bites her right thumb. One eye peeps at the camera, but quickly turns away. "Is that all? Can I go now?"

Caesar nods sadly. He's trying, and succeeding, at getting across just how disappointed he is. "Yes, Katniss. I think you've said all that we really need to know."


	7. Chapter 7

As the viewing screen shuts off, there is a moment of fast silence. I can't bring myself to move my head. I feel like if I move even a little bit this will all just turn out to be another demented dream.

Katniss is alive. Coin had told me that much, but until just now I always had that sneaking suspicion that even if she was dead, there's no way Coin or anyone else in District 13 would tell me about it. There's no way they would risk me abandoning the rebellion.

I'm pushed out of my stupor when Delly gives me a light tug. "Um…Peeta…" she says tentatively, "are you all right?"

My hands come up to feel my face. I must have been crying ever since she came on, but it was so light I hadn't noticed. Now I feel a soft wetness running in lines all over my body. Some of it gets into the suits, too. I can't remember the last time I really cried. This whole time I've been so focused on not showing any weakness, not having any feelings- I didn't even cry when I found out my family was dead. It feels good. It's been so long since I was in a position where I could just feel vulnerable for a minute without worrying that I was going to screw everything up.

Prim's voice pops up, clearly concerned. "Peeta, it's…you know it's all right. We already knew."

Delly suddenly lets go of me. I turn to look at her and she's blinking confusedly. "What…what do you mean? Is it true? Is what she said really true?"

Now all three of us, me, Prim, and Mrs. Everdeen are looking at her, caught off guard. I hate the Capitol powerfully right now. Delly's been my best friend ever since we were little kids, but of course she had no idea what was going on. I've hardly even gotten a chance to see her over the last year. Everything she knows about me and my life has been a complete deception.

"I don't understand," she said, deliberately avoiding looking at any of us. "There was footage of you sneaking into each other's bedroom in the middle of the night. Weren't you..?"

"No!" I said sharply, quickly. "That was…" I can't think of any way to react.

Delly puts her arms around me. "It's all right. Don't get upset. I guess it makes sense, after everything that happened. I'm sure you have your reasons. You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

I do want to tell her. I really do. First the crying and now this. I remember the nightmares. I remember the way that Katniss would thrash about, terrified for her life. Now I'm scared, too. I don't want Delly to get the wrong idea. She never has before. But I can't talk to her like this, not in front of Prim and her mother. Maybe not even out of here as long as Katniss is still being tortured. I can't violate that trust.

There's a sudden strong rapping at the door, but it seems to be a formality. Two soldiers quickly make their way inside. Delly quickly lets go of me.

"What's going on?" asks Prim. "What do you want?"

They have grim looks on their faces. It makes it hard to tell them apart. One of them looks at me. "You're supposed to be in your room right now, engaging in reflection. What are you doing here?"

Prim interjects. "He just came to get these suits at all. He was just about to go back."

The soldier stares coldly at Prim, and she stares right back at him. She has a much stronger glare than I would have expected from someone her age. The other soldier looks around the room, and I follow his gaze. This must all seem very peculiar to him. Delly's arms were around me when they crashed in, there's wet marks on my face, my clothes, and the suits I had just come to get, and it looks like Mrs. Everdeen is whispering to herself, though she's taking care that neither the soldiers nor anyone else has any idea what she's saying.

Finally, the first soldier breaks off from looking at Prim. "We need to take you back to your room," he says to me. "Take everything you need here and come with us."

I hadn't come for much in the first place, so I agreeably get up and walk back with them to my room. The first soldier orders the second (I guess he must be subordinate) to stand guard. When I ask for an explanation I'm waved off and the door closes behind me. I take a deep breath, just to make sure that no new crisis will suddenly arise. Once I feel assured of that, I decide to look through the paper I received at the meeting with Plutarch's propos meeting this afternoon. These look like ideas for propos campaigns. I have trouble reading the smaller writing, but the ideas don't look like they're much good anyway. Mostly because they all seem to be written for interior stages. I really have had quite enough of making speeches indoors at this point, and I don't really care for anything else like that now. I decide that my number one suggestion for the moment is long camera shots, outdoors, with people surrounded by things that aren't trying to kill them.

It's at this point I realize I don't have any kind of writing implement. I sit dumbly, trying to figure out what to do next, when there's a knock at the door.

"Soldier Peeta," he says. It's the first guard again. "I've brought you your dinner." He slides it under the door. Very flat food, whatever it is. I don't know what it's called, but I'm sure I've seen a version of it at the Capitol, where all foods needs to be bright, pretty, and appetizing. This doesn't look that nice, but it at least seems edible.

"Hey," I say.

"What is it?" This voice is different. It must be the second guard.

"I'm supposed to be doing some writing in here, but nobody gave me a pen or pencil. Could you help me out here?"

There's hesitation on his end. "I don't know if I'm allowed to give you something like that. You might hurt yourself or something."

I roll my eyes, even though I know he can't see me. I look over my food and grab a utensil. "Look," I say, "if I wanted to hurt myself I would just use this-" I stop. What exactly is this thing? It looks kind of like a fork and kind of like a spoon, and it seems to be made out of plastic. "If I wanted to hurt myself I would just use this foon," I say, guessing.

There's another pause, but this time I get the feeling it's because whatever this thing is it's not called a "foon". "That's ridiculous," he says. "No one's ever hurt themselves with a…foon before."

I roll my eyes again. This is clearly someone who hasn't watched decades of Hunger Games footage. "Look, unless you want me to start trying, get me something to write with. I need this done by tomorrow."

After another silent spell, I hear some rustling and a pencil creeps in underneath my door. With it I start to writing, taking bites of food intermittently. I thought analyzing this paper was going to be fairly straightforward, but I keep rethinking the way certain ideas would play out and end up erasing most of what I write about half a dozen times. By the time I need to bathe and get to bed, I'm mostly satisfied with the quality of my work, but I'm especially relieved when I remember that today I finally got some confirmation that Katniss is still alive. The nightmares aren't so bad that night.

When I get my tattoo the next day I'm surprised to find that it's incredibly short. It just says "All Day – Reflection". I look under the doorway, and see that the guard is still standing there although for all I know it might be a different one by now. I quickly find myself settling into a routine. There's this constant stream of papers running underneath my door. I read them over, mark my comments on the back, and slip them back under waiting for a new set to get back. The ideas are more to my liking as time goes on. Plutarch's committee seems to have quickly seized upon one idea I gave strong approval to- one of the large print suggestions on my first sheet of paper was to show propos that memorialize tributes that died in the more recent Hunger Games. I remember how Katniss reacted when I tried to give part of yearly allotment to the families of Thresh and Rue. I think she would approve of this idea.

In between all the notes being slipped back and forth I bide my time between eating the flat meals slipped intermittently under my door and doing simple exercises in my room. We had to go through a lot of work getting into shape for the Quarter Quell, and I would hate to let that go to haste when there might actually be somewhere for me to be any day now except for sending back copies of meeting papers.

After a few days I finally get my chance. After reading over a fairly routine paper I seize on something at the very end. In large print, there's this suggestion- "bring Peeta and Johanna to District Eight battlezone. Film them interacting with the wounded." There's more on the list than that. There's also a suggestion of what approved scripts to use, which of us should use them, and who will be available for camerawork, but I figure I can deal with that later. I hurriedly draw circles all over the statement, emphatically endorsed the plan on the back, and slide it back under. If I'm going to be the face of this war, it's about time I saw what was going on.


	8. Chapter 8

The Capitol has withdrawn all its forces from District Eight, and only infrequently calls air strikes. The morale benefit the revolution will receive as a whole from a propos featuring Johanna and myself in a location that can't possibly be a sound-stage in District Thirteen thus far outweighs the very slim possibility that we will ever be in any real danger. This is the technical justification offered as to why we can leave District Thirteen. Johanna's explanation is a bit different.

"I was really, really bored," she says, feigning a yawn. We've been in the hoverplane for about half an hour now talking infrequently. "All anyone ever does at these meetings is talk about imagery, themes, or motivation, or whatever. So I got impatient. I made myself a pest. This is a day where they can babble on about visual metaphors without me. Good riddance. I really got enough of that with the Hunger Games, you know?"

I think back to the quiet girl in the Hunger Games a few years ago who managed to convince everyone that she was a helpless weakling. It seems like she, more than anyone, should know how important it is to cultivate an intimidating public perception.

She gives me a dirty look. "Oh, don't give me that. Everyone thinks I'm cold and calculating. Well, they're just idiots. I didn't want to play along with those stupid games. The dressing up, the making a good impression. I wasn't going to let them change who I am."

I consider my words carefully. "Well, what about the practice room? You didn't show them what you could do with an ax there, did you?"

Johanna hunches forward, hands underneath her chin. "No, but that was something substantial, logical. It's a fact that if other tributes see you practice your skills, they will have some idea of how to fight you in the arena. I could relate to that. What I couldn't stand was the idea of playing a role for those monsters in the Capitol. That's who I need to place my faith in? People so fickle, they'll have no trouble coming up with a new favorite tribute if I die? Forget it! There's only one person you can count on- yourself, and never forget that."

Thinking back, Johanna's victory really did surprise everyone. She had a fairly low rating. It couldn't have been more than a five, though I can't remember exactly. Haymitch was very clear with us that we had to be serious about our skills with the Gamemasters. If everyone got that kind of advice, it's easy to see how a person with a supposedly low rating could blindside everyone.

"It's like my mother always said," Johanna went on, falling back again. "There's no such thing as a good liar. People believe what they want to believe. Nobody wanted to believe I was dangerous. That would mean that there's one more person they need to worry about. Much better to believe that I'm just a wimp who got lucky. It's not safe, but it sure would be nice if it were true, wouldn't it?"

After some time, we touch down in District Eight. Even though we're not on a sound-stage, the only part of the program that's not scripted is a visit I'm supposed to make to the wounded in a hospital tent. Once my visit is over with, I come outside to make a speech about the Capitol's role in maiming these people, particularly the women and children. I need to repeat the revolution's greater argument about how we're fighting to protect our friends and families- and that it doesn't matter how helpless they are, the Capitol is going to brutalize all of us regardless of how many are actually fighting.

While all of this is going on, Johanna is going to do some target practice, tossing axes into nearby trees. This is supposed to be inspiring to soldiers uncertain of their combat skills in the face of trained Peacekeepers. I remember that in the notes, many people expressed skepticism that this idea would work, but I've seen Johanna throw axes. I don't know whether it was inspiring, but I certainly felt some emotions from watching it.

It will probably help that she has new axes. She showed them to me earlier on the plane. They just looked like regular axes with strange colors- red, white, and blue. Johanna says that the colors represent special abilities, but wouldn't tell me anything more than that, though she was clearly very proud of them, and carried them very visibly on a belt. They're the only part of her war lady outfit that she seems to genuinely like.

Once we've finished with these propos, we make some final, joint remarks and we're back to District Thirteen. As we clear out of the plane to meet with our camera crews, which had traveled separately, I try to remind myself that I've had nothing to think about but speeches for the past several days. I haven't messed up under these conditions before, and I'm not going to start now.

I head into the tent that holds all the wounded. I cringe realizing that, tattered though this place is, it's still the best shelter anyone can come up with under the circumstances. The actual buildings nearby are so badly battered they're probably not safe to even be near. As we enter, a woman with a military air comes up to greet us. When she realizes who I am, she brightens up quickly.

"Oh!" she says, clearly relieved. "So you're all right!"

Some people turn around to see who she's talking to. Soon everyone in the tent who's able to is looking at me, and through all the stench and sickness, it actually doesn't seem all that bad. I start moving around, smiling and exchanging greetings.

"Don't worry about us- we gave as good as we got!"

"After what you went through, this is nothing."

But without a doubt, the most important are along these lines-

"We're sorry about Katniss. We know that they're just making her tell lies. It's horrible how they murdered your baby. We still believe in you."

It hadn't occurred to me at first, or for some time after, that no one in the districts would believe what Katniss had said. But it made a lot of sense. Katniss' delivery was terrible. She's never been good at making prepared speeches, and she looked shiftless and nervous the entire time. She may have been telling the truth, but no one in the Districts is inclined to believe anything the Capitol says at this point.

I'm about halfway through the tent when I hear a loud noise, and everything starts to rattle. The woman who greeted me shouts something about emergency drills, and a few able-bodied people move out of the tent. I rush out, pushing aside members of the camera crew who try to stop me.

There's a formation of hoverplanes a ways away. It looks like they're circling around again. I decide that I need to take shelter, but I stop when I see Johanna sprinting out of the corner of my eye. She's moving very quickly. Within half a minute she's run to and climbed to the second floor of a building that I think used to be a factory. As the planes approach again, she shouts at the top of her lungs-

"Solid! Ten! Firefly!"

And gives a mighty toss of one of the red axes. At first, it just seems to disappear, but after about several seconds have passed, I see and hear a shattering explosion that hurts my eyes and forces me to turn away. When I've opened them again, I see that three of the planes have been visibly damaged, though all are still preparing to circle around again.

When I look at Johanna, there's this insane glint in her eye, and she's cackling, clearly enjoying this.

"Liquid! Eight! Firefly!"

And then, as soon as she can,

"Plasma! Four! Firefly!"

This time I manage to avert my eyes before I have to and get a better glimpse of the aftermath, though this time the noise is so loud that there's some ringing in my ears. Over half of the planes have taken damage now and one is struggling to make a landing. Now all of them have given up the attack and are retreating. For a moment Johanna looks unsatisfied, but then she, I, and the camera crews notice that one of the planes has fallen down nearby and the pilot is struggling to get out of the cockpit. Just as quickly as before, Johanna has moved off and is confronting the pilot, now completely terrified, as he tries to escape. She looks straight at one of the cameras.

"I want to make sure that everyone in my hometown of District Seven understands something. You see these jackets the peacekeepers wear? It protects them from light weaponry."

She pulls out one of the white axes and smiles.

"But here's the funny thing. Their heads? Those helmets? They don't protect anything. That's where you aim for. And that's how they'll die."

I don't see what happens next. I'm too far away, and I really don't want to. But at the same time, I know that this is the Johanna propos everyone has been waiting for, and that sooner or later, I probably won't have a choice.


	9. Chapter 9

As Johanna's axe splits the Peacekeeper's head open, there's a moment of quiet and calm- the only noise anyone hears is the hum of the hoverplanes as they continue to make their exit. Soon we can't hear anything at all. The silence is finally broken when a ranking soldier from District Thirteen says in a low but firm tone of voice: "Johanna, I need to speak with you a moment."

Once he's taken her aside all eyes are back on me. Because I can't think of anything else to talk about, I decide to stick with the plan. I've already been seen the wounded in the tent. Now the time has come for me to speak out. I eye my camera crew. The script I had agreed to involved me building up to the big talking point with some humor directed to the wounded. I decide to skip that part.

"District Eight is secure," I say calmly, measured. "The Capitol tries to demoralize us here with air raids against areas that don't even have any fighting soldiers," I say, giving a wave of my arms over the sick and wounded in the tent behind me, "but the reality is there's nothing left here for them to destroy, nothing of strategic value, anyway." I finger the locket, grasping it in my fingers, for now just out of site of the cameras. "But they saw just now who's really in danger here. Johanna's not the only one. We have the technology. We have the back-up. We have the support. They're not going win, and I'm not speaking idly."

"When we escaped from the Capitol, District Twelve was obliterated. I've been there myself and saw the wreckage. They left nothing alive and pounded everything there into dust. They wanted to send a message about what would happen to any other districts that opposed the Capitol."

"Here's what the Capitol doesn't understand about us. Threats are worthless to people who are already miserable. If they want to demonstrate their superiority, why not do the same to District Eight? Why the weak strafing, Snow?" I say this last part snidely, derisively. "Could it be that you don't have the power to make good on your threats anymore? Well, if I'm wrong, send some more of your toys out here to come and get me. We'll be waiting. Just watch the axes."

I feel so confident with this as an ending that I halfway turn around before realizing that I've nearly forgotten the most important part.

"One more thing," I say, holding my hand up as I turn back around. The locket is in my hands. I push it open and flip through the pictures. "You didn't get any of them. The people of District Twelve didn't just sit back and become your martyrs, Snow. They escaped. It doesn't matter what you do to Katniss. They're alive. And as long as she has that, you'll never be able to break her."

I nearly faint a bit as I end there. It's one thing to read in correspondence letters just how logical everything is in warfare. How Snow doesn't have the ability to obliterate entire districts anymore, how if he wanted Katniss dead he would have done it by now, how he wouldn't be provoked into any of these actions just because I taunted him, how likely it was that he would never hear of this message in the first place because anyone who tried to tell him what I said would be risking punishment for daring to bring him bad news. All these were believable on paper, but having to actually say these things terrifies me.

My strength comes back to me, and I see that Johanna is done being chewed out. We ready for the final salute before we head on back to District Thirteen. As we walk together, I can't stop myself from asking her:

"So what was the word? Did he think you went a little too far back there?"

Johanna suppresses a giggle as she smiles. "Oh, you think that's what that was about? Don't be stupid. He tried to tell me that I should have captured him alive so we could torture him for intelligence. What an idiot. Like they'd tell a pilot anything we could use against the Capitol."

My body still goes through the motions of holding hands with Johanna, raising them, and making a big spectacle. But my mind keeps working through, and I wonder what I'm even supposed to be doing now. These are real people here. What am I going to do when I get back to District Thirteen? Sit back in my room for a few more days and communicate with letters? Didn't I just dare Snow to come after me.

I look back at the tent, and wonder what the people there must think of me. I feel stupid for having phrased it the way I did. It made it sound like I was going to be at District Eight this whole time. If I really believe that Snow's not going to attack here, shouldn't I have the guts to actually stick around and prove it?

As all these thoughts fly through my head, I find myself stepping down from the hoverplane. Now the same soldier that approached Johanna approaches me.

"What do you think you're doing?"

I look him straight in the eye. "I'm staying here until I'm sure that there's not going to be any other air strikes."

There's a helpless look on his face. At first I think it's because of me, but then I see that he's looking back at the hoverplanes. They've already been started up, and the longer he delays taking off, the more precious fuel they're going to waste.

"It was part of the script," Johanna says, sneering. At first I think to me, but then I see she's talking to the soldier. "Don't they tell you guys anything? Him and the camera crew have to stay behind for a few days. Are we going to get moving or what?"

The soldier shoots a look at the camera crew, who don't seem to know how to respond, I think because now that Johanna mentions it, my staying behind in District Eight is as good an opportunity for propos as anywhere else. One of them rifles through the camera and takes out some sort of cartridge- presumably whatever they filmed of me so far today. The soldier gives a hard look, but soon gives up and takes the cartridge and heads back to his plane. Johanna shoots me a wink and a smile, and as the hoverplanes lift off, I find myself wondering whether she was trying to be nice to me or rude toward the soldier who a few moments ago had rather boldly questioned her.

For the rest of the day I try to familiarize myself with the basic camp activities. For the first couple of hours people insist on treating me in a very dignified manner as I'm the symbol of the rebellion. Others even criticize me for staying behind at the camp and exposing myself to danger. This latter group was especially popular with the camera crew. While I have trouble learning at first, once everyone gets tired of fawning over me I learn the basics of treating the wounded- how to stop bleeding, calm people down if they're having an attack, how to take a pulse, and other facts along these lines. Once that's all settled I start taking shifts for guard duty. This mainly consists of getting in a high place and vigilantly looking out for any planes in the distance while monitoring a nearby radio that will let us know of incoming friendly craft. As it turns out, from this radio I can also hear various people from District Thirteen demanding that I come back, but I ignore them all. They can get by without me for one day.

The resources we have are limited. Only enough clean food and water for a very modest dinner, and a lot of work has to be done cleaning the dishes and making sure that all the wounded in the camp have enough to eat. Once they're satisfied they have enough footage, the camera crew starts to pitch in, too. We don't fix up the whole place in a single day or anything even close, but the commanding officer is glad that we're around regardless. There's always so much to do and they always feel so shorthanded that it feels nice to feel on top of things, even if only for one day. She also thanks me for deciding to stay behind when this wasn't something I needed to do. I am especially grateful because throughout all this time, she never addresses me as any different from the multiple other people under her command.

I offer to take the night watch- I've had so much rest for the past few days that I still have plenty of energy even after everyone else is tired. Late in the night, another voice comes in from District Thirteen. It's Haymitch. And somehow I doubt he's telling me about an incoming flight. I've gotten so annoyed at fielding these calls that I answer his end just so I can say-

"Look, I'm not coming back, especially not at this hour. What's so important?"

Haymitch seems surprised to hear me answer. He answers slowly and clearly, making sure that I get his words right: "We got her back."


	10. Chapter 10

One odd thing I realized during the Hunger Games was that nothing ever really took anyone by surprise. No matter how well a person hides, if they plan on actually making a move there's always some time, even if it's only a split-second, when the target realizes that something was wrong. Sometimes you could react fast enough to do something about it, sometimes not. At first I thought this was only true in the Hunger Games, but when I tried to get back to my regular life I kept anticipating the appearance of some new, dangerous obstacle. A lot of the time nothing happened, but when it did I was always ready and knew what to next.

The first clue I have that something was wrong was when I approached Katniss' room in the medical ward. Logically, I knew she was in there. Everyone had told me she was in there, and it made no sense for me to go in unless I could see her. But as I approached the door, not even once did I get the feeling that someone, anyone, was behind that door waiting for me or anyone else. And there wasn't.

She ignores me. There is this strong, blank gaze directed at the wall directly in front of her. I couldn't recognize her. She looks like Katniss, but Katniss is more than just a girl with dark hair and gray eyes. She has a powerful spirit and maturity that colors every interaction she has with the world. Like this, she can't even interact. I ask Haymitch why it was that nobody told me.

"You would have wanted to see her for yourself anyway."

And he's right. I would have.

It took about a day in between when they recovered Katniss and when I finally got back by hoverplane. In that time the doctors had tried all the obvious remedies. I thought that maybe she had regressed because she thought Prim and her mother were dead. But they were the first ones to come in and Katniss ignored them, too. Haymitch explained to me what had happened- at least, what little anyone could tell had happened.

"You noticed it yourself, I'm sure," he said. "Katniss can't perform. The Capitol needed her to go on screen, and tell the people of Panem that their revolution was based on a lie. She knew she was telling the truth. She probably believed she had destroyed everything, too, and that she deserved to be hated. But there's the funny thing about low self-esteem. If she already knows what a worthless wretch she is, then what does it matter what she says about who she is, when it should be obvious to everyone? I doubt she even understood why they dragged her in front of the cameras to begin with, and they didn't think it was important to explain it to her. The Capitol only realized its mistake when it tried a heavy assault, thinking they could demoralize the rebellion. But no one buckled. All they saw was the Mockingjay, battered and tortured for the rebellion, forced to tell implausible lies in for the sake of a transparent ploy to break the people's spirits."

I remembered something in the report, when they sent Johanna and me to District Eight. It had said that there was a strong, recent bombing campaign that had been repelled against strong odds. It didn't seem important at the time. But then, the report didn't say anything about why the raids were called, or how the people had survived them.

"After that, they must have realized that any Katniss at all was useless, but if they tried to execute her then she would turn into a martyr- or worse, we could take advantage of the spectacle, and even a failed rescue attempt would show how badly the Capitol was losing its grip. So they did...this to her. I don't know what they were planning, but forcing her into shock like this could only have been the first step. Finnick and Beetee weren't treated the same way at all."

Beetee had died. No one on the strike team was sure when it happened. It might have been during the raid or before, even long before- they could have used his still-sitting corpse to terrorize Katniss. All the strike team was sure of was that he was dead, and that the operation was difficult enough to pull off without having to haul off an extra body. It was difficult enough to take Katniss- she still had a pulse, but had lost the will even to walk.

Finnick, on the other hand, was not in shock, and had not been subjected to the same treatment as Katniss, whatever they did to him. He wasn't exactly in great shape, either. When I tried to see him he appeared happy, but not for any rational reason. He just kept babbling on about his secrets, Annie, how well he did, and how we all had to keep faith. He kept asking whether she had been found yet. It didn't seem to matter how many times he'd been told "no", he wouldn't be discouraged- he was convinced she would be found. Coin had made a special order on her protection and recovery, for Finnick's sake, but no one seemed to have any idea where she was or what had happened to her since the rebellion had started. It had been assumed that she would be kept near Finnick, just so they could torture her and make him suffer. The fact that she wasn't seemed to imply that the Capitol hadn't caught her at all, which made even less sense. They had early control to District Four, and recovering whatever surviving tributes they could, especially one so close to Finnick, would have been a major priority.

I guess I had thought this rescue would be a great success. Tactically, recovering Finnick and Katniss was a great opportunity for the rebellion, and in the rescue footage she only looks tired, not mentally paralyzed. But for me, I didn't even know where to go next. I try to adjust to the daily grind of District Thirteen. I take some classes, learn something about these awful nuclear weapons. It becomes obvious to me why not even the Capitol is willing to let this escalate into a nuclear conflict. There's also actual combat training- it's funny how even though I've killed people, I have trouble learning how to hold a gun correctly. My aim is even worse, but the instructor insists that practice will make perfect. I have an easier time taking interest in the propos meetings, mostly because Haymitch discusses things with me now, but it still feels like I'm just killing time. I feel even worse knowing that Katniss is nearby and there isn't anything I can do to help.

We get to work on an elaborate plan. The propos shoot I did with Johanna was a resounding success. It sparked the massive counterstrike that made Katniss' recovery possible. Apparently Johanna's demonstration as to the weakness of Peacekeeper helmets wasn't just brutal- it was instructional. An entire development team has been built up around giving technical videos advising soldiers on effective combat method, most of it based on what Plutarch could remember about the old Peacekeeper training videos he had seen and developed, with the content coming from District Thirteen's own military instructors.

We also received a lot of residual support based on the footage shot by my camera team when I stayed behind. It was quickly and easily agreed that whatever the risks of sending Johanna and me out into the battlefield, they were easily outweighed by the massive benefit fighters for the rebellion received simply by thinking we were out there at all. This led us to Panem's rail systems. Since the rebellion broke out they had gone unused- no one was willing to transport anything on them because they were obvious targets that would be far more useful when the war was over. The Capitol, in particular, couldn't risk putting off the the traditional Hunger Games train tour since it would be a sign that the rebels had accomplished something, even if they did lost.

So we, me, Johanna, and Haymitch, would take a tour of our own. District Twelve had been destroyed and District Eleven had long since been brought under full control. From that point we could just keep going, and drop in on newly liberated districts to lend moral support, an ironic contrast to how the trains are supposed to be used. The Capitol wouldn't be able to attack us at first because they wouldn't know about us, but the longer the trip lasted, the more backup we would pick up from the liberated districts, and if the war kept on its present pace, soon it would be dangerous for them to even try.

After some time we manage to develop all the necessary scripts and make all the classified arrangements necessary to insure that the trip goes as intended. The last night before the trip I think about leaving District Thirteen again, and all the goodbyes I won't have to make. Then I realize something. There is one person I would like to see. Someone I haven't seen ever since I came back to District Thirteen even though before she did everything she could to see me every day. What has Delly been doing all this time?


	11. Chapter 11

I try to force myself asleep, knowing that there's nothing I can do about Delly until the morning. I get another nightmare. Once again I'm running through the halls, trying to escape, but this time I clearly see that one of the mutts is Delly. This time I wake up right in the middle. Normally I know there's no point in waking up into another hopeless world, but I know Delly is here. I know that she's probably fine. And I know that I need to see her as soon as possible or I'll never forgive myself.

There's a curfew, but compared to all the other regulations it's practically a formality. Everyone has to be up early in the morning. Someone who violates curfew is being stupid more than they're actually violating the rules- less sleep just means it's going to be harder to get through the next day. And since everything is closed, there's not even anything anyone can do this late. Well, I can think of one thing, but desperate as District Thirteen is for more population they're not about to try and obstruct that.

I keep my eye out for guards. Compared to the dream this is pitifully easy. I just need to move slowly, quietly, and deliberately and they never even notice anything. I've gone three blocks before I realize I don't actually know where I'm going. I've never been to Delly's room before. She would always come to wherever I was. All of this is just making me more worried. I doubt she's in her room anyway at this point.

My mind deliberates over where I should be going. There's only one person who's likely to have some idea where Delly is and would also be willing to tell me- Haymitch. I know that he's kept on a special, highly secure block to keep him from smuggling booze into his room. It's a hard fact to miss, since he complains about it nearly every chance he gets. I think half the reason he likes the rail idea so much is that they won't be able to monitor his actions so closely.

Once I get there it doesn't take very long to find Haymitch. He's snoring so loudly it gives me additional cover to avoid the guards. I find myself disappointed to remember the second Quarter Quell footage. It never showed Haymitch sleeping, I guess because it wasn't exciting, but the snoring has to be a recent habit or else otherwise I can't figure out how he won.

The door is unlocked. I creep in close to Haymitch, and start shaking him. "Get up, Haymitch!" I say. "It's tour day!"

There's a strong, grumbling response, but not much movement. I pause momentarily to make sure the guards are too far away to see the door. Then I start turning the light next to his bed on and off. "Get up! Get up! The sun's shining!"

Finally agitated beyond his patience, Haymitch slowly sits up. He blinks at me without comprehension.

"I thought something was strange. Why am I lying down?" He says, slurring his words. "This bed is too even. It makes me uncomfortable."

"Where's Delly?" I demand.

Haymitch finally seems to realize what's going on. "We're in this damn bunker, in the middle of the night, and you came crawling all the way up here to ask me where that girl is? I thought this had to be important. It's almost tour day and you're messing everything up. How did you even find me?"

"Look," I say, ignoring him, "I'm not leaving until you tell me where Delly is. Don't pretend like you don't know."

Haymitch makes a motion of his head as if he's about to call the guards, but suddenly seems uncertain. I think he's realizing that inviting anyone into his room for any reason sets a bad precedent. At least by sneaking in I was acknowledging that I wasn't really supposed to be in here.

"All right," he says haggardly, getting out of bed fully dressed. Must be another habit he has trouble breaking. "You can see her. Just do exactly what I say. When I open the door, you walk right next to me as briskly as you can. And try to look really angry. Don't make eye contact with anyone. And if anyone tries to talk to you, just yell 'shut up!' only loud enough that that one person gets the message. Do you understand?"

I nod my head. Barely before I'm done Haymitch jumps, bellowing out of his bed, and slams the door open. Guards are nearby. I can't tell if they're surprised or not, but I can feel that they're not making any moves. No one even tries until we reach the end of the block. He gives one look at us but before he has the chance to even do anything Haymitch just yells "shut up!" at him and keeps moving. This goes on until we get to a part of the compound I don't recognize with a very foreboding looking elevator. We barge in. Haymitch finally lets down the frustrated look and turns to me as he presses the button for going down.

"Trick I learned the first week here. They don't have any idea what to do with a person who walks fast and won't talk to them. Unless I'm drinking they'll let me do whatever I want." He winks. "I have a reputation as an inconsolable crank."

I nod in appreciation. It's always good to have random plans. "So Delly's down here?"

"Right," he says, a little uncomfortably. He tries to change the subject. "Let me ask you something. Hasn't it always been about Katniss, ever since you asked that I train you separately from her? I know why I agreed to leave, and about Johanna, too. What about you?"

"I can't do anything about her right now," I say, shaking my head, not like this topic. "If I try to stay around it will just make things worse. I'm the reason she's like this right now."

"Do you really believe that?"

"Look," I say, irritated, "Katniss is surrounded by people who love her right, people she knew before the Games. Who she knew before everyone started trying to kill her. Our lives have been a mess ever since we were picked in that lottery. I don't know that I'd want to see Katniss if I was the one who'd been captured and tortured. I don't know if it would help. There's a war going on right now. I can't keep getting wrapped up in these personal battles."

The elevator stops. Haymitch presses a button and prevents the door from opening.

"But you want to see Delly."

"So far something horrible has happened to every single person I know when I stop paying attention to them for too long," I push Haymitch away angrily, and force the door open. "I have to stop anything I can. I can't let anyone suffer because of all this!"

I follow the lead Haymitch set out earlier. Walk briskly, look angry. But it stops being a look. A surprised, sleepy-looking guard looks at me from the entrance of a cell block.

"What are you-?"

"Shut up!"

And before I've even realized what I'm doing, my hand is clenched into a fist and I've left a bloody mess on the front of his face as he falls down.

"Where's Delly?" I yell, picking him up by the collar of his uniform. "Where's Delly Cartwright?"

He weakly points to a cell and offers a key. I grab it and charge over. I don't like what I see when I open the door. Delly is lying on the floor, looking thin and sickly. She hasn't bathed in several days, and I can smell a corner of the room that reeks of urine and excrement.

When she sees me, she brightens right up.

"Oh! Hello, Peeta! It's so nice of you to visit me!"

I find myself so disarmed by her typically cheery greeting that I have to stop for a moment to get my bearings.

"Delly," I say as slowly and calmly as I can, "What are you doing? Why are you in here?"

"You know!" she says smiling. "They said that I knew too much, that it was dangerous for me to be with everyone else for awhile. That you needed to work without distractions. I think it all makes a lot of sense! So I'm right here, where you need me!"

I stare blankly. If it was anyone else standing here they'd think she'd gone completely insane. But I realize she means every word of it. Haymitch gets up to me, looking haggard.

"Peeta, why did you do that? Just because it's night shift doesn't mean everyone's asleep! They'll have an entire squad down here any minute!"

"What is she doing here, Haymitch?" I demand. "Why is she locked up down here?"

"Haymitch!" she cries, smiling. "You're looking so good today! I heard they made you stop drinking alcohol. It's doing wonders for your complexion! Keep it up and you'll be feeling ten years younger in no time at all!"

Haymitch blinks. He then turns me around so Delly can't see or hear us talking. "All right," he says, ignoring Delly's statement. "I know this looks bad, but it's how they treat all the prisoners-"

"Why is she a prisoner? What did she do?"

"She knows! I don't know why you told her, but she knows about you and Katniss. We can't risk anyone finding out that Katniss was telling the truth on that broadcast."

Before we have a chance to talk it over any further the elevator opens up and a squad is right there. Haymitch hurriedly turns around.

"Soldiers, please, I can explain this-"

The commander moves very quickly and within a few seconds has Haymitch up against the wall, held up by the butt of a rifle.

"Attacking a soldier is a serious offense. Punishable by up to six months in solitary confinement."

"What are you, stupid?" I say. "Do you have any idea who we are?"

The soldier doesn't even bother glancing. "The rules apply to everyone. I don't care who you are or what you're doing."

"We're on special orders," I say, my mind racing, "to recover Delly Cartwright and bring her on the rail tour beginning tomorrow. A rail tour, I might add, that's above your clearance level. You better take this up directly with Coin. And I assure you, she will not be happy if you push this."

The other soldiers have closed the gap by now, and one of them is whispering into the commander's ear. He lowers his rifle a bit, letting Haymitch slump down, but shows no indication of softening. He turns toward me and I get a clear view of his face.

"Such a requisition would only be made for individuals possessing exceptional skills. This girl has no useful skills to any department, especially not yours Mr. Mellark."

"I thought I recognized you!" says Delly, crawling forward a bit. "You're the soldier who brought me in, aren't you? It's so good that they gave you a promotion! You were so good with protocol, and you seem so experienced, it's a wonder it didn't happen sooner!"

There's a blank moment where no one does anything. Then, abruptly and out of nowhere, Haymitch just starts laughing uproariously.

"'No skills', he says," Haymitch cackles. "The girl can make positive statements about anything in any situation, and the man doesn't think she could be of any use of a propaganda tour!"

I act immediately, helping Delly to her feet and moving her while the soldiers just watch. "That's right," I say, as we inch past them and back to the elevator. "We're requisitioning her for morale. Now you can either cooperate with orders or we'll see how long your well-deserved promotion lasts."


	12. Chapter 12

We decide spend the night on the train. Staying in the compound is too obviously a bad idea- it's way too easy to get cornered. I have no idea what Coin, Plutarch, or anyone else will do when they realize I've broken a prisoner out of jail. They can either pretend this was a part of the plan all along or they can make an example out of Delly. If they decide on the second one, I'd like to make it as difficult as possible. Haymitch agrees with me, but not for quite the reason I expect as we carefully make our way to the surface.

"You can rationalize taking her to the train. She hasn't ever seen it before, and this trip is going to take weeks, maybe months. You can't go to your room or else they'll think the worst."

"What's so bad about going to Peeta's room?" Delly asks, confused.

"They'll think he took you as a lover."

This statement causes Delly to snort suddenly and put her hands over her nose and mouth. I can hear her giggling, mostly because I know what it sounds like. Haymitch ignores her.

"I'll need to get Johanna. Tell her what's going on so that this all looks like it was planned ahead of time. As long as we're discrete about this everything should be all right. As bad as it looks for you to ignore District Thirteen's laws, it will look even worse for the rebellion if its locket is exposed as a criminal."

The locket. Is that what they're calling me now? I don't know that I can blame them. "Peeta, savior of the rebellion" doesn't have much of a ring to it. It would probably make the propos sound like an advertisement for food.

We make our way to the train depot near the surface. There are guards near the train, but they recognize me and Haymitch since we've made frequent inspections over the past few days. When Haymitch explains the change in plans they take his word for it. We get on board as Haymitch leaves to get Johanna.

That the train even exists at all is a bit strange, but nothing to be unexpected from District Thirteen's extreme thrift. Most of the parts that can be used to build trains, the metal and all that, can be salvaged for other purposes. But other parts, like the smaller gears and the wheels, are useless for anything except making a new train, and they had all the technical manuals, too. Building the train wasn't that difficult- the bigger problem was figuring out how many of District Thirteen's rail was still functional after their rebellion from the Capitol seventy five odd years ago. District Thirteen has little use for rail since they don't usually have anywhere to go- so hopefully the Capitol will be taken by surprise. Construction had started on the train before anyone was sure what it would be used for.

Once I've showed Delly around and found a spare room for her it's about time to get some rest. We say good night to each other, but a few minutes later I realize this may be the last time in a while that I'll be able to speak to her alone. I head back to her room.

"Delly?"

She gets up and I notice again how tattered her clothes look. I hope Johanna brings plenty of spare clothes. That's the kind of detail Haymitch would know to prepare for.

"Why did you just let them take you?"

Delly just shrugs. "District Thirteen is the only reason me and my brother are still alive. If they thought we would be better off if I just went to jail, why bother arguing? I'm sure they had the best of intentions.

All this time I'd completely forgotten about her brother. "How is your brother? Did he put up with this as well as you?"

"Oh, it's been some time since I've actually seen my brother. He's fourteen now, you know. In District Thirteen that's when you're old enough to start training for a soldier. He couldn't wait to get started and signed up for boarding in the military section."

"Don't you miss him?" I asked.

"He's doing what he thinks he has to because of Mom and Dad," she says, biting her lip. "I can't hold that against him, especially since I'm no good at the soldier training at all. He knows I love him. I made a big display when he was leaving, since you never know what'll happen, if I ever get a chance to hold him again. It was the same with you with the Hunger Games."

That wasn't something I could easily forget. The first time I left to go she squeezed me so hard I thought one of my ribs was going to crack. She seemed so terrified. But somehow, even through all that, she was convinced that I was going to make it through and win. It might have been convincing except that my own family hadn't been quite so confident. The second time she hadn't seemed so worried. I even asked her why. She said that no matter what happened, Katniss was going to be looking out for me. That I could trust Katniss was going to do the right thing. There were worse things in the world, she said, then dying by the side of someone you love. It was all very poetic. I feel bad now for not remembering the exact words, but there was just so much going on.

"Peeta?" she says, shyly, creeping up her covers a bit, even though it's too dark to see much of anything. "Did I answer your question?"

I nod. "Thanks. That's what I really wanted to hear right then."

As I leave the room, I hear some loud stepping and some whispering. One person is whispering much louder than the other.

"Look," Johanna says hissing. "It's the middle of the damn night. You can't expect me to be happy about having to traipse all the way over here just because lover boy is acting like a-"

"Hi," I say stepping out. Haymitch and Johanna, both carrying luggage, stop short surprised. Johanna quickly gets back to speed. She's wearing pajamas. I can't see them very well, but just knowing that that's what she wears at night makes me laugh a little. If the Capitol ever got a picture of this we'd all be in big trouble. It's hard to be quite so scared of her when she's dressed like this.

"What's your problem?" she snaps, before realizing what I'm looking at and blushing. "Oh, shut up," she says. I only came out here because of you anyway. What exactly is going on anyway? How did you of all people manage to get in trouble?"

I look at Haymitch. I would have thought he would have said something. I guess he wanted me to tell her myself.

"I kind of…beat up a guard and broke my friend Delly out of jail."

Johanna's eyes open wide. A few seconds later her mouth does too and she's laughing her head off.

"What? You? You got mad? Are you serious? Peeta the dignified? Peeta the holier-than-thou? Oh, this is way too much," she says, wiping a tear from her eye. "Is that it Haymitch? Really?"

Haymitch nods. "I saw it myself. It wasn't so funny at the time. I was positive we were all going to get killed. Delly calmed the guards down, fortunately."

Johanna seems to have regained her bearings. "All right, so who is this Delly, anyway?"

Before I have time to respond Haymitch quickly interjects. "She's the most positive person I've ever seen. Kept down in solitary confinement even, and she wouldn't stop saying nice, positive things to everyone."

Johanna frowned. "And we're supposed to be going on this tour with her now? That doesn't sound like my idea of a good time."

"Which is good news," Haymitch replied quickly. This is part of how I'm going to explain this to Plutarch. It's great to have Johanna barking and terrifying everyone all the time, but some people like to hear nice, hopeful messages where people aren't getting killed all the time. Delly's a great counterpoint. Her parents are dead, but she won't give up hope. It's Plutarch's kind of metaphor."

Johanna shrugs. "Sure, if you say so. Just keep her out of my way."

As she leaves, I think I see the faint outline of a stuffed bear hanging out of her luggage. Before I have much time to reflect on this Haymitch breaks in.

"Be sure to thank her later. This isn't something she had to do for you."

"Right, I will. And thank you, too, Haymitch."

"You're welcome," he says gruffly in bare acknowledgment. "You're sure Delly won't be trouble? She wasn't acting nice like that because she'd been tortured to insanity had she?"

"No," I said. "She's like that all the time."

"Well, good. I'd hate to get in trouble over this. We all would. You didn't have anything important back in your room that you needed, did you?"

I shake my head. I carry the locket with me at all times. The only thing back there I much care about were the notes I was going to use for the speech tomorrow. Everything else is probably safer in my room than with me. I am starting to wonder what I'm going to do for clothes now.

"I'm heading off to sleep," says Haymitch, eying a not-very-comfortable looking chair. "You should get some rest, too."

"Yeah," I say. "That sounds like a good idea."


	13. Chapter 13

I wake up exhausted, too tired to even have nightmares. Usually this only ever happens during the Hunger Games, and simply having this thought makes me shudder a little. Johanna's right. It's not like me to get so worked up about something, not if I don't have to. If I'd showed that much energy to my mother I'd practically be provoking a beating. Johanna and I make a brief propos for the departure trip I give a very subdued, unimpressive performance. Fortunately, I don't exactly need to say much anyway- the trip is supposed to be a secret, and there will be plenty of time to reorganize the footage by the time it all becomes public.

The train sets off with us waving at the cameras slowly moving farther away. Coming back inside, I take another look at the train's interior. It's nearly identical to the one that we would always take into the Capitol. I'm nearly expecting to be waited on hand and foot with the most exotic foods imaginable for breakfast, but I know it's not happening. I made a specific point when the trip was being planned that we had to have as un-Capitol like a presentation as possible. No waiters or servers. Everyone on the train has a reason to be there- technical staff, media personnel, soldiers. There's only one cook- Greasy Sae, who also doubles as a District Twelve survivor. When we arrive at District Twelve, I'm supposed to go to my room for quiet meditation while she talks about what used to be there, what no one outside the District ever saw, and what no one will ever see again. It occurs to me now that I've calmed down that Delly is much better suited for this interview than Greasy Sae. I doubt Greasy Sae will mind. She agreed to come mainly because of the unique challenge of the food arrangement. There has to be food available at all times since everyone has a completely different work schedule that could change at any minute. At the same time, no one from District Thirteen would dare let food go to waste, giving her an unusual opportunity to be creative.

When I head to the dining car, I see she hasn't disappointed. There's pies and breads and soups on the tables everywhere, and Greasy Sae's granddaughter is walking back and forth briskly bringing empty plates back into the kitchen and bringing more food out to the front, smiling broadly all the while. When she brings out a large hot pastry that's shaped like a drumstick, Johanna quickly grabs it.

"These people are such idiots," she groans. "New food coming out all the time and they just grab at the stuff that's already there!"

"Well, it is Greasy Sae's cooking," I say as she takes a bite out of it. "I'm not sure if it really matters how hot it is."

Johanna ignores me and finds a place to sit down, furiously tearing into her food. I decide she has the right idea and also grab a few odd foods, eating alone and in silence. This is a significant change from the very normal food we were always eating in District Thirteen. I get the impression that when the kitchen found out that Sae was leaving, they just tossed her all the weird ingredients they had. It might be my imagination, but I think some of this stuff smells like alcohol.

Even though I'm only supposed to trudge to my room when we get to District Twelve, I end up spending most of the trip there anyway, only really coming out when I'm hungry. I'm just not in the mood for people right now. I do make sure that I'm out of my room, staring at the window in a melancholy manner, right when we're about to get close enough that we can almost see it. I end up not leaving the room again until the morning, when Haymitch brightly wakes me up.

"Good morning! Good morning! Yeah!" he cries, banging on the door.

When I rustle my way out of bed, into my clothes, and out the door I smell his breath. Looks like it wasn't my imagination about the alcohol. I can see Haymitch suddenly realizing that they gave Greasy Sae all his alcohol and just sitting in the dining cab all day stockpiling anything that smells like liquor. He puts his arm around me.

"Peeta, today is a beautiful day! Let's get some breakfast!" he says, licking his lips.

In our walk there and while we eat, Haymitch explains the cause for his good mood. The interview with Delly went better than anyone could have guessed. When the camera crew went looking for her, she just so happened to be talking to Greasy Sae's granddaughter. Delly got to explaining why the camera crew was there, and it just turned into this big thing, where both of them were looking out the window. The poor little girl was near crying the entire time, and Delly kept comforting her and hugging her explaining how everything was going to be all right. How everyone was going to come back and make District Twelve bigger and better than ever before, and that this time the Capitol wouldn't stomp down on everything.

"Unbelievable!" cries Haymitch, as he finishes explaining this. Although I'm not sure whether he's referring to the story or the oddly shaped pie he's just picked up. "The little dumb girl and Miss Optimism, still wearing those tattered clothes, waxing on about our glorious future when the war's over. We couldn't have scripted it better, you understand that Peeta?"

I understand that even hearing about this exchange in the third person is making me feel a little sick. It's nice that Delly has an obvious purpose on the trip- no one is going to second-guess her last-minute addition now. But it still makes me feel uncomfortable hearing about her being used like this.

Nothing much happens after that. I realize that being alone in my room on the train is about the most comfortable I've been anywhere in the last several months. The nightmares are still brutal, but just being on the train makes me feel, for the briefest of moments that Katniss is here somewhere, and it helps me calm down. Delly visits every so often. We just talk about small things, gossip mostly, about other people on the train. I don't really like to use that word since Delly's impressions are really positive and optimistic. It's what I like about just sitting around talking to her without going into any of the serious issues around us right now. It makes me feel like we're living back in simpler times.

The next day we arrive in District Eleven, and I soon accept that my respite is over. There's a lot of work to do. The people here don't really need much in the way of support. District Eleven was one of the first to fully break away from the Capitol. Even though I'm supposed to be the main attraction, the main thing that excites them are the soldiers on the train briefing the soldiers in District Eleven. Over half the equipment and personnel are either assigned on the train or to move with us as escorts as we move to other Districts still engaged in fierce combat. They're all fully expecting the Capitol to be on the receiving end of a nasty surprise.

As it turns out, though, surprises take time. Early estimates indicate that moving and prepping everything is going to take over a week. Nobody seems to get tired of seeing Johanna or me although we get tired after awhile. One day I notice that Johanna seems especially pleased with herself.

"All right," I say, "what's going on? Why are you so happy?"

"Did you know that we're also supposed to be restocking on food here? And that we shouldn't expect a resupply anytime soon?" she says, smiling broadly.

"Yeah," I say, drawing the word out.

"The bosses in District Eleven aren't sure they'll have enough left for the several months. They don't dare talk to the soldiers, but they opened up to Johanna, the hero of the rebellion. I mentioned, very casually, you know, that Greasy Sae has a very loose definition of 'food'"

I had to laugh a little bit at that. Even though I don't leave my room much, the dining cab has always been a constant source of entertainment. It's fun to try and guess how Sae is making the food, since unlike with the Capitol's food service, I pretty much know what all her ingredients are. It's a bit of a mean joke to play, but these are the kinds of thing Johanna seems to live for.

Sitting in my room that night, I start wondering what it is that I live for, and what I'm doing here to begin with. I remember Katniss immediately and start thinking about the last time we were here together, when I started that riot. I decide that I need to make a point of seeing Rue's family, Thresh's too if I can find them. I never did get the chance to thank them properly.

I clear the meeting with Haymitch and head out with the camera crew. It turns out that not all of them are still alive, although I suspected this was going to be the case when I came up with the idea. Thresh's family was killed completely, though I'm assured that his sister, at least, fought and died bravely in liberating District Eleven. Two of her sisters and one of her brothers is still alive. The oldest is the same age as Rue was in the Hunger Games and I can see the resemblance. Seeing the impact my actions had on these people ties me up. I forget whatever it was I had prepared to say.

"I want you to know," I say biting my lip. "When I said I was going to give your family some of our allowance…I didn't know that the Capitol was going to attack you."

Almost as soon as the words are out of my lips they all jump me, hugging. The oldest sister speaks-

"Rue wanted you to win. Katniss was nice. So you must be nice, too."

Unconsciously I find myself patting their hair. "I'm really not so great," I say, swallowing a lump in my throat.

"You shouldn't worry," she says. "We've saw her on the screens. She's getting better. You will, too."

"Thanks," I say, feeling my eyes water a little bit. This wasn't what I wanted to thank them for, but it's close enough.


	14. Chapter 14

After we leave District Eleven I'm not sure what I'm good for. When I sit in my room alone, trying to delay the onset of nightmares, I keep wondering, really wondering, why I needed to be on this trip at all. I've heard the general answer to this question so many times- that I'm a symbol, that people believe in me, that the rebellion needs me for inspiration. But I get the sinking feeling after talking to what's left of Rue's family that all I really want is to make myself feel better, and if that means helping people, then it's by accident.

I know that nobody believes this- or at least, doesn't want me to believe it. So as I find myself unable to get to sleep, I decide to search out the one person that I know won't be positive with me- Johanna.

Quite unlike the corridors of District Thirteen, on the train there's nothing but a low rumbling. There are sentries perched outside the train ready to sound the alarm if anything approaches, but there's not really much to do inside the train. I knock on Johanna's door. When she doesn't respond, I figure that she's just asleep and turn around, but right then I hear her voice very softly-

"Who's there?"

"It's me, Peeta."

She pauses for a moment. "All right, come in."

Her room is incredibly bare. There's nothing on the walls or the floor. Even the bed looks a little simple. I realize soon after thinking this that mine looks almost exactly the same.

"What do you want?" she says, very cautiously. She's wearing her pajamas, and her hair looks very tussled, but I can also see that she hasn't gotten any more sleep than I have.

"Why are we on this trip?"

She stares blankly for a split second. Then she lets out a loud laugh.

"That's why you came in here? You were at the same meetings I was. You know the whole strategy."

"No, I mean," I say, trying to think of a better way to phrase it, "what about us personally? What are we looking for?"

"I'm looking forward to the cow they're going to give us in District Ten. Have you ever wondered how strange it is that we've never seen a real cow before? We eat them all the time, but the only real ones are in District Ten."

"No, I mean, when we get back to your home, to District Seven. What do you hope to find there?"

Johanna's expression turns serious and bothered. She turns away from me. "I guess I hadn't really thought about that. Not explicitly, anyway. They told me that the uprising after the propos I made pretty much freed them completely, that I was an inspiration. Maybe I'll get a hero's welcome. Nobody's really told me."

"Really?" I said, puzzled. Everything in our trip was strictly mapped out. My itinerary for District Seven was relatively vague, but I figured for Johanna they'd have something specific.

She turns back toward me, suddenly cold. "Our wondrous partners in District Thirteen need to keep some secrets from us or else we might react badly. Tell me, lover boy, anyone mention anything about Katniss to you?"

I shake my head, though now that she mentions it, I do remember hearing something from Rue's sister.

"About what I figured. Well, she's getting better. That 'cousin' of hers, Gale, he's been giving her therapy by taking her out hunting. They say she has amnesia, but she can remember the hunting because she's been doing it so long, or some nonsense. If I had to guess, I'd say the propos appear at about the exact same time you're scheduled in places far away from a view screen."

I feel relieved, but also a little alarmed. "Why?"

"You'd know better than me," she shrugged. "They probably think you'll give a better performance if you just remember her as a lifeless shell."

This makes sense. I'm not even sure I mind. If she has amnesia, she's better off forgetting about me anyway. If it weren't for the Reaping, maybe I'd want to do something about it, but I keep coming back to all of those horrible memories, and if I could just give them up…

"Johanna," I say, "do you have nightmares, too?"

She snorted. "All the surviving tributes have nightmares. We don't all express them the same way, but they're there."

"Would you give them up?"

"No," she said darkly. "I'm going to kill Snow with my own hands if I have to. I can't do that if I forget what happened, if it all turns into some abstract tragedy. He will pay. All of them will. That's why I don't care how District Thirteen uses me or what they want me to do. They will help me kill him. They will help me wreak vengeance against the Capitol. That's all that matters."

I consider this carefully. I remember that when Coin recruited me to begin with, she promised that she would get Katniss back. Katniss is back now, and she's even recovering. But there's nothing I can do to help with that- I don't want her to turn into a hateful shell like Johanna. So what is there for me to do on this trip? What will District Thirteen help me do?

"I don't relish it," Johanna says, tired, "but I do need some sleep now, if you don't mind."

"Oh, right," I say. "Sorry for the trouble. Thanks for talking to me like this."

It was only for a brief moment, and I might have imagined it, but I'm nearly certain that I saw a brief expression of surprise on Johanna's face as I left the door.

Johanna was right about the cow. Through all of the fighting District Ten doesn't have too many left, but they insist on giving us one. I'm amazed to look at it, and so are the soldiers who accompany me to the ceremony. It's a very large animal, and a pretty dumb one, too. It just stares blankly ahead chewing its cud, with only the faintest idea of what's going on around it.

I channel my surprise at this creature's existence into making the first decent speech I've made on this trip. Material about how little we in the Districts really know about each other seems to play well. The camera crew in particular examines the animal from nearly every angle so that all the Districts can know where beef comes from.

Beyond that, nothing of interest really happens in District Ten. There are more supplies to be collected and more meetings. Mostly the same as in District Eleven, although it doesn't take as long since District Eleven was the main headquarters. I pass the time making idle chit-chat with Delly about what kind of food Greasy Sae is going to make with the cow, since District Thirteen personnel are going to insist that she cook every single part of the animal into something.

The operation really gets into action when we hit District Nine. District Nine has not been pacified, at least not completely. Some peacekeepers were left behind for limited surveillance, and generally to just harass District Nine citizens who lack the energy and resources to make a strong strike against a small, entrenched group of Capitol forces. This changes when the train arrives. It happens early in the morning before any of us wake up or the train formally arrives in District Nine. A fast strike-force of soldiers on hoverplanes overwhelm the enemy garrison, killing all of them down to a man. When the train does arrive, it's to make a surprise victory celebration as we announce one more District has been fully liberated from the grip of the Capitol.

The same thing ends up happening in District Eight. By now the train and its entourage are very powerful and well equipped. Action has been taken in these two districts with minimal losses, and ongoing estimates indicate that the train should be able to liberate every District it runs into.

But all this still leaves me feeling empty. It's great that we're winning, but that just begs the question- once the war is over, what am I supposed to do with myself? Delly thinks I'm worrying about all this too much, and truthfully, I probably am. I find myself with a better sense of direction once I start running through my District Eight itinerary.

Most of the propos filmed around me concern my coming back at the very place where it the counter-offensive started- the makeshift hospital, the sentry duty, everything. I find myself chatting with people that I met then, even going on to learning their names. I ask more questions, what their lives were like, what they were going to do for themselves. I share in the grief over those who died. I do this for several hours, and most of the time, I found I've completely forgotten that I was even being recorded.

It was a wonderful feeling. The first night I got back to the train I immediately and forcefully lobbied that I be given as much as this "free time" as possible. My scripted performances had, to date, been lackluster, and with Haymitch's lobbying I was able to get my schedule modified. I think this probably had a lot to do with the fact that for the foreseeable future, there was only one major speech, and it was going to be given by Johanna.

My optimism for my future work is short-lived when we arrive in District Seven. We've been assured that it's completely pacified, but the whole place is in tatters and I can see dried blood nearly everywhere, most of it spelling out anti-Capitol slogans. Seeing the ravages of war isn't something that bothers me by this point. But the other districts, they tried to soften those images, to rebuild. District Seven doesn't look like it wants to go back. Just walking around I feel terrified that someone's going to jump from behind a shattered window and shoot at me.

Johanna, of courses, loves every minute of it. Every time I see her she's congratulating someone on the witty phrasing with that particular splash of dried blood, or that front heavy pile of wood and scrap that at night time shapes into a jagged, screaming monster. People that I talk to explain that these landmarks spook Capitol soldiers into making easy mistakes. Johanna's propo notwithstanding, most of the killing was done with bullets. They did throw the axes, usually into large, easily hit nearby boards so as to panic the Peacekeepers into thinking they barely missed have their skulls cracked open.

But none of this compares to the set-up for Johanna's speech. Most of the audience is from District Seven, with some of us high-visibility train travelers thrown in, too. The building isn't even a real building- it only just barely has a roof and there's blood all over the holey walls. What worries me the most is that in spite of how decrepit it is there is a curtain in extremely good condition just behind the podium. After some formalities of graciousness toward the Rebellion, Johanna takes her position and smiles.

"I really like," she says grinning ever wider as the cheers grow ever wilder, "what you've all done to the place. Those poor Peacekeepers, they don't know what it's like to be afraid, do they? Well, you sure showed them. Even I felt like pissing my pants when I saw this-"

With a wave of her hand, the curtain comes down. At first I think it's just a body wearing a Peacekeeper's uniform nailed to a cross, but it's worse. They're actually several parts from different bodies- I can see by how loosely they're all hanging. The uniforms rips and tear at different apparent places, but all of the pieces look corpulent, sickly, and have a disfigured color. Above it there's a very large print in dried blood is the phrase "you are all Capitol."

The crowd keeps cheering. They clearly love it. But I can't take it anymore and I find myself rushing outside. I need to retch. I hate the Capitol as much as anyone, but this is too much. It's just too much.


	15. Chapter 15

After that event I go back to my room and excuse myself from any further work on the grounds that I feel sick. This seems to work through the night, but by noon the next day Haymitch finally has to come in to try and talk me out of my unreasonableness.

"Peeta," he says in a very measured tone. "You're overreacting."

I'm sitting on my bed, staring straight at him. "I went through two Hunger Games. I watched nearly every one that's on the archival tapes. I never saw anyone doing something so evil, so depraved."

"Of course not," says Haymitch. "That's because there wasn't any point to it."

He moves his way to the only chair in the room and sits on it straight up. He returns my gaze very strongly.

"Think about it. What do you get out of being cruel in the Hunger Games? Cruel tributes bring too much attention to the horror of the whole enterprise, so they can never get sponsors. People start hoping that they lose. And they can easily push other tributes over the edge. Do you remember Clove?"

I have to turn away from him for a minute. The feast was easily the scariest Hunger Games footage I'd ever seen. I had no idea Katniss had been that close to being killed when she got that medicine for me. It was bad enough that she'd drugged me so I couldn't stop her. I just tried to avoid thinking the worst of it.

"Clove could have killed Katniss any time once she was knocked down. But instead of doing it quickly, she bragged about murdering a twelve-year-old girl."

He leans back. "But this, this is war. The Capitol doesn't have any twelve-year-old girls."

I stare at him blankly. "They don't?"

"As far as we're concerned, no. Have you ever seen twelve-year-old girls on the viewscreen? Are they ever invited to those fancy parties the victor tributes always go to at the Capitol? Have you ever seen a Peacekeeper bring their family to whatever rotten district they're stationed?"

"So," I say, "what's your point?"

"The Capitol are villains. They've spent the last seventy-five years doing everything they can to terrorize the districts. You want to know why the people are excited for that display? How can you not be?"

"I don't know, Haymitch," I say, keeping my lip stiff. "Maybe it has something to do with my whole family dying because of this war."

"You're not the first victor tribute to lose his whole family, and if the Capitol has its way, you won't be the last." He gets up gruffly and moves toward the door, opening it and walking through. He turns around. "We're heading to District Six tomorrow. It's still a hot zone, and there won't be any time for fancy displays. If you want this war to end, then get back with the program."

I give a lot of thought to what Haymitch says. Part of me knows that he's basically right. Johanna doesn't have anyone left, either, and this is just the way she chooses to deal with it. I'm really an aberration. I never expected to live through the Games. I'm still a little surprised that I'm alive right now. I just need to think in terms of some goal, to distract myself somehow. By all accounts the rebellion is making excellent progress. I'll likely be allowed closer to the hot combat zones than I could have originally expected. If I just stay focused, then before long this war will be over.

Like Haymitch expected, there's no parades or big welcoming committees in District Six. The situation is primarily a military one. When we get near to the edge of its borders, the train has to start stopping repeatedly as scouts move ahead to insure that no Capitol units are nearby to take us by surprise. We have no idea what's going on in the town square, and it will probably be some time before we find out. The immediate priority is to find the most dramatic entrance possible. A local group in District Six has been instructed to feint in such a way as to make it appear that Capitol forces have the upper hand. Then we head in to "rescue" the beleaguered group.

Normally I'm not allowed anywhere near actual combat, but I've been told that for the past few weeks' video footage of me has been withheld. In part this has been because of their poor quality, but it also lets my inevitable entrance be a lot more dramatic. When the forces appear, I'm going to appear right outside the hoverplane and shout into the megaphone "Capitol forces, surrender now or be shot down!"

We'd had this basic plan for some time, but originally the idea was that we would shoot the yelling piece separately from the actual attack so as to avoid putting me in danger. But since the Capitol seems to have no idea how many of our forces are here, chances are we can legitimately take them by surprise on this count.

Within a couple of days the officers have formulated the exact plan of attack. The camera crew is embedded with the soldiers who all move stealthily in between the various greenery and large buildings that dot the landscape, although we don't really need to be that quiet. Right on time, District Six forces provoke a loud firefight as the hoverplane moves into position. They're holed up in some sort of underground complex. I'm not completely sure what it is. There doesn't seem to be anything down there except for pillars, asphalt, and a lot of wide-open space, although it's hard to tell since it's so dark. The peacekeepers are returning fire, but they seem almost bored. I realize that they probably can't see what they're aiming at. They can't even watch their enemy die.

The hoverplane sits in place and I walk out to its side, carefully hanging on with one hand and holding the megaphone in the other. I yell into it as loudly as I can-

"Capitol forces, surrender now or be shot down!"

Some of them look up and down a little bit, but I'm not sure that they've heard me. Right when I'm about to try it again, a platoon of rebellion soldiers jumps out from all surrounding directions and attacks. The hoverplane quickly ducks behind a nearby building, so I don't get to see anything that happens. I'm told, of course, that it was all very glorious.

After the initial phases of contact with local District Six forces and the combining of our supply sets, I find that the war seems a bit relaxed. Throughout the District Six campaign, we seem to run into a basic pattern. There are action shots, like the first one I did, that seem very flashy and impressive but really accomplish very little in the overall scheme of rebellion operations. Most of the Capitol's regular forces are headquartered in a flashy rich and large hospital building, with strong glass and bars over all the windows. Apparently keeping patients in the hospitals has always been a big problem in District Six. But even little victories against small scouting have great psychological dividends for rebellion forces as a whole. We end up with a big map of District Six that shades in all the areas that are "secure". It's incredibly misleading, since most of District Six's most valuable resources are in the hospital, but they make for good propos.

I find that with each passing day, the increase in my workload is doing me wonders. My military objectives are the same nearly every time- just shout in the megaphone. Meanwhile, there's still plenty of time for me to visit the real hospitals- the ramshackle tents and small buildings where people are injured and waiting for something. Usually, by the time I get there, I find out that they're waiting for me. There's not quite so much excitement as there was in District Eight, since at first most of them seem to have trouble believing that I'm really there, what with the effects of the morphling- District Six seems to be the only place that has medicine to spare.

As time goes by, I find that the train's movement is so steady, and my life has fallen into such a comforting routine, that I'm almost upset when the rebellion finally wins over District Six and I have to give a big, fancy speech about how wonderful it is to throw off the shackles of the oppressive Capitol, and how it's only a matter of time, and all of that. I end up feeling much the same as we start pushing through District Five. The routines become surprisingly relaxing in spite of the obvious dangers. I can hardly remember anything that I'm doing anymore, and for me that's quite a comfort. I start wondering, is this all war really is- just a series of repetitive movements, sheer boredom? If that's what's going on, then I can see what the appeal of the Hunger Games is.

I realize now that Haymitch is right. The Hunger Games are completely different from an actual war. In the Hunger Games, I had feeling, I had to believe in something, or else I couldn't figure out any way to go on. In this war, I'm not that important. Oh sure, I'm Peeta, I'm the Locket, I symbolize the rebellion and all that, but my actions don't have obvious consequences anymore. I spend all my time acting for the camera, even when I don't know that that's what I'm doing. If I get attached to anyone, they could always die tomorrow. And then what am I supposed to do? Find the new random injured soldier, just chat them up a bit, feel like I'm one of the regular people, feel like I'm a part of something.

But this is exhaustion. This is nonsense. I realize that when I find that my reactions are so delayed, that I've gotten to be so indifferent, it must be nearly fifteen seconds before I completely realize the significance of some random offhand comments I hear on the train at breakfast one day-

"Hey, I haven't seen that bright, cheery girl so much lately."

"Oh, she got shot. It happens."


	16. Chapter 16

It turns out that Delly's not dead. She was just shot. I find I hate myself for thinking about it so flippantly. Yes, she was "just" shot. Things could be so much worse. But that's not the point. I need to stop taking everything that happens around me so lightly. Getting shot is a terrible thing, and it's my fault she's even in the situation in the first place.

Of course, it's hard to keep this guilt trip when I actually visit and talk to her.

"Getting shot isn't that big a deal, Peeta," she says, in a smiling cheerful voice. It's almost enough to make me forget that she's wearing a cast and lying down on a bed that looks like countless people have died in it. "Did you know that all the clothing we have has light bulletproof elements in it? It doesn't slow down the bullet too much, but it keeps wound from being severe unless you're hit in a vital area."

Someone had tried to take a shot at the train. It wasn't a particularly successful one- if any serious damage had been done someone would have told me about it. We'd just about finished the campaign in District Five and nearly had the Capitol forces routed. This was a last-ditch attack of desperation. If the soldiers had been smart they would have sent the intelligence back. As it happened, they were all killed shortly after the initial volley of bullets. They attacked the food car of all things- not even a slight chance of hitting someone important to the war effort.

These are all matter-of-fact tactical terms, all in the words of the soldier who explained these things to me. I have to keep reminding myself- "shooting Delly is important. Shooting anyone is important. Don't think about the overall war".

Delly's cheerful mood is getting to me. "Are you sure that this is you talking, and not the morphling?"

"I guess I'm not," she says. "But you shouldn't worry. If you come to visit me often enough soon I won't even need it anymore. Don't you have work to be doing?"

I sigh. "Yeah, I guess I do. A hug before I go?"

She smiles broadly. We embrace for several seconds and then I leave. Once I'm out of the medical I run into Johanna. She's smiling in a way that lets me know she heard everything that went on in there.

"Yeah, yeah," I say grimacing. "Think what you want. I don't care. I'm surprised they didn't set up a camera crew in there. Find another cheerful moment of joy in a tragic war."

Johanna snorts a bit, but to my surprise she tries to cover it up. Then she just bursts out laughing.

"Oh wow, that's…ha. You really are totally clueless, aren't you lover boy?"

I look at her blankly. "What?"

"They're having enough trouble trying to spin the whole Katniss Gale thing. If footage of that became public anywhere…I wonder what they'd do? What would they possibly do?"

Without any warning I grab her by the hands. There's a bathroom nearby in the next car. I make a brief check to see that no one's watching and I shove her in. I follow, locking the door behind me.

"What's going on with Katniss?" I say, with urgency.

Johanna shrugs, indifferent. "Nothing important. She recovered from her physical injuries last week. She's prepped for battle, wearing that fancy outfit they had to strip down for me. She and Gale are accompanying a full unit in District One. Plan is we're all going to meet in the middle. Great propos fodder, you two running into each other right after all Panem is liberated. Pity about the whole Gale thing. Nobody really thinks that he's her cousin, but he gave her the therapy so they can't risk getting rid of him.

I sink down to my knees, not sure whether to be happy, confused, or outrage. It's really a mix of all three. If she has amnesia, then what kind of a reunion would we even have? It's been hard, but I'd started getting myself used to the idea that she would be better off if she never saw me again. But this, I hadn't heard anything about her getting well enough that she would be near a combat zone. A combat zone. Getting shot.

I struggle to my feet and try to rush out, but Johanna pins me to the door before I can lock it.

"Look, lover boy, whatever you're thinking, it's not going to work. They've been planning this ever since Gale said she was ready to go to the field. You're not supposed to know and we'll both get in trouble if they find out I told you. For now just play along. She's their precious Mockingjay. They wouldn't dare let anything happen to her."

I wince. Everything she's saying is factually correct, but still, having it spelled out is pretty disheartening. I'm glad she told me anything at all, really. I just need to stick with what I was thinking before. For now we just need to win the war. I can figure everything else out later.

Johanna lets me go and then exits the bathroom. I sit on the toilet just thinking for several minutes before I head out, too. It's time for the District Five liberation ceremony. With this we're only a few districts away from complete victory. The next stop is District Four.

District Four is a welcome change of pace, mainly because the plan we started out with had to be completely changed once we arrived just in time for a very surprising morale victory. Annie's alive.

Details are extremely quiet about how this happened, since there's no easy explanation. Haymitch gives me the bits and pieces that he's privy to. Apparently a defection from Capitol forces is expected soon, a big one, too, and Annie is a gift of goodwill. It's hard to imagine what could be a more significant defection than the Head Gamemaker and all his immediate staff. Come to think of it, it's hard to imagine that there would be anyone left. Snow almost certainly purged anyone that was even vaguely considering questioning his authority.

"That," says Haymitch, "is the reason why this is so major. Whoever this person is, they're powerful enough to have saved a victor tribute, but loyal enough to Snow that his loyalty has never seriously been questioned. To get someone like that this late in the war is going to be a major turning point."

There's another one of these regular ceremonies. The speech I give this time is actually pretty good. I don't know the story behind Finnick and Annie- nobody does, except that she was badly damaged by her victory in the Hunger Games and that Finnick had an intense, secret devotion to her that the Capitol was trying to keep secret. It doesn't take much imagination to just assume there's a wonderful, beautiful love story behind all of that- something so hopeful and wonderful that the Capitol would have every reason to try to kill it. But they failed.

Annie doesn't stay with us very long. She's scheduled to head back to District Thirteen as soon as possible- we simply can't afford letting the Capitol have a chance at ruining this movement. No, I'm thinking like a soldier again. What I mean is, Finnick and Annie have been through so much that whatever else happens, they deserve to be together for even a short period of time.

Some military forces do make a point of trying to debrief her to get some basics of the situation. I have to be there because she needs to see people she trusts or she won't want to talk. I mention to Haymitch that I've never even met her before today, but he tells me that even if that's true, she knows that I of all people wouldn't let the Capitol come between her and Finnick. He brings me in to a small room, where Annie sits across a table alone. She looks downtrodden, but perks up slightly when I enter with Haymitch. He asks her a simple question.

"So, how soon were you captured after war broke out?"

"It wasn't for a few days," she says mutely, still apparently uncertain how much to trust any of us, but she quickly gains momentum as she speaks. "Some of the rebels tried to hide me for awhile, but they were killed. They, the Capitol soldiers, locked me up somewhere for awhile. They were going to take me on a train, but then they turned back and put me back in the security cell. We've stayed there the last several months. The two of them and me, we just ate canned food and whatever was in there. Then some rebels came. They killed the soldiers, and then it was just me."

"Anyone, ah," Haymitch pauses slightly, "anyone torture you?"

"No," she says nodding her head. "I was sure they would, but it never happened. Those soldiers, I know they were keeping me prisoner, but I don't think they were bad people. One of them was from District Two. He liked to play drums. He could do some simple songs."

"All right," says Haymitch, apparently having heard enough. "Thank you for your help, Annie. We have to go now, but you'll be able to see Finnick soon."

Now she completely brightens up. "Do you really mean it?" We don't say anything, but she looks to the wall still smiling. "Thank you."


	17. Chapter 17

The brief surprise I have at learning Annie is alive only punctuates the hopelessness I feel about this war. The fact of the matter is that in between all these distractions, people are killing each other. People are dying. And my job is to try to put a pretty face on it. To make them believe that the situation isn't a hopeless one. This just gets more and more difficult when I have to keep blocking myself out just to ignore all the horrible things that keep happening. The last major offensive in District Four involved driving the remaining Capitol forces out into the middle of the lake that makes up most of the district. They thought they were going to escape to the other side, but their path was laced with oil. Once they were in position, we set it off. Everyone in the boats was burned alive. I don't know how effective this tactic was compared to just shooting at the boats, but I do know that we could use the imagery to make a propos demonstrating the Capitol's influence in District Four literally burning away.

I remember that before I actually participated in the Hunger Games, they just seemed cruel because of the metaphor. While I participated in the Hunger Games, I could rationalize what I was doing because I was protecting Katniss. I didn't think I was going to last all that long anyway, so that made it easier. But now, it hardly seems to matter what we're fighting against. We have to use the same kind of cruelty, but the people this time deserve it, I guess. I don't really want to think about it. The only comfort I have is that, with District Four secured, all that's left is District Three and District Two, and then this awful war will finally be over. I try not to think about meeting Katniss again. I've come to associate the propos with cruelty and lies, and I'd rather not think of Katniss as being a part of that.

In District Three most of the fighting takes place in a very urban environment. Rebellion forces now have an overwhelming advantage in numbers and morale, to the point that elaborately staged propos are no longer seen as necessary. The Capitol is losing, and there have already been enough heroics for a single war. I do enough propos to reassure people that I am still alive, but when we need scripts at all we just recycle the old ones. Haymitch tells me that after all the work I've been doing I deserve a break. I probably do, but the work was the main thing distracting me from the war. Without it, I don't have anything to distract me from the horror of it all.

I end up seeing Delly more often. Sometimes I even insist on bringing her some food. We chat about various things. She lends me some old books-most of them silly comedies about grade school children. They make me feel a little better, but sooner or later I either finish the book or I hear yet another loud explosion.

One day, as I come to return some books, I find Delly crying in her bed. Naturally, I ask her, "what's wrong?"

"Oh," she says, not looking up. "It's my brother. He's been shot."

I drop the books. The loud noise surprises Delly and she looks up to see me, apparently not realizing that I was the person who entered the room. She works fast to eliminate the sobbing sound in her voice, but can't quite make herself cheerful.

"It's not as bad as it sounds," she insists. "He's just been shot. He's not dead."

I cringe at this correction. It made me feel a little better when they said it about Delly, but that was before I really had time to think about what it meant. When I speak to the wounded at whatever makeshift hospitals are lying around, most of them are there because they've "just been shot". It's not a pretty sight. People who are shot lose sensation and feeling wherever it is that they've been hit. Sometimes they need to be amputated. Since taking District Six, medicine has been fairly easy to come by, but doctors aren't. The wounded usually have to make do with medics, who can't really help that much beyond the drugs. They don't get the specialized, expert care that I received at the Capitol after the games, when they had to make me pretty. That District Thirteen would give me now if they needed it. That they probably gave to Delly, too, now that she's a part of this.

"Peeta," she says quietly, "are you all right?"

All of a sudden I lose my patience. "No, I'm not all right! " I yell, smashing my fist into the nearby wall. I hit it so hard that my knuckles bleed, but right this moment, I don't care. "When did this happen? When did we just stop caring about people being shot?" I start looking for things to throw. The books on the ground do, splintering the window. "Why are we pretending that this is just fine? We didn't get shot at back in District Twelve!" I see some of Delly's uneaten food. I motion toward it, thinking about smacking it around, too, but then I remember all the wasted food that I saw in the Capitol, all the hunger I saw in District Twelve. "No, maybe starvation is worse, but why can't we have both?" I start rubbing my forehead. "Why can't we have both?"

At this moment a soldier opens the door, apparently concerned. "Is everything all right in here?"

For the first time I actually take a look at what I've done. Except for Delly's bed and the area immediately surrounding it, I've badly wrecked the whole room. I try to think about what came over me.

"S-sorry", I mumble to the soldier. "Sorry," I say turning around to meet Delly's eyes, but I'm stopped by something that I've never seen there before. She's scared, she's really, really scared. I feel so horribly ashamed that I run out of the room as fast as I can, which isn't that fast since a small crowd has gathered outside the room. But once I finally get to my own room, where I'm supposed to be, I start crying into my pillow until I get to sleep. Even the nightmares are better than this.

No one makes any mention of this outburst to me. I guess I'm not that surprised. From what I've seen from the battle reports, things are going nearly as well in District Two as they are in District Three. We're likely to finish operations in both of these districts at about the same time. The end can't come soon enough for me. I'm just about at the limit of how much more of this I can take. I'm hoping, too, that once the war's finally over, I'll have the courage to talk to Delly again, and apologize for just awful I've been.

A couple of days after we finish operations in District Three, the train and its assorted entourage sets out for District Two. We're about halfway there when we start getting a live feed. This, it looks like at least, is going to be the last major act of the war. Capitol forces are holed up inside of a giant fortress that is constantly referred to as "The Nut", I'm told, "because it's a hard nut to crack". District Two was pacified relatively easily, but this fortress has been a chronic problem because there's no good way to attack it.

The new strategy for dealing with it is to cause an avalanche by firing at the mountainous crags surrounding the fortress rather than assaulting the fortress itself. In doing this the fortress will be destroyed beyond usability, and everyone inside will almost certainly be killed, but, I think, at least after this last act of horror the war will be over. I've been willing to do as much for my loved ones. I clutch the locket. After using it as a prop so long it feels tired, but its message is true. Suffering is worth it if we can at least protect our loved ones. Maybe that's what's been driving me so crazy lately. This feeling that I don't really have anything to protect anymore.

We watch the footage. The peacekeepers inside the Nut seem to realize what's going on, but it's too late. The whole thing crushes in on top of it, on top of everything. For several long minutes, nothing seems to happen. It seems like it should be time to celebrate, but in the room where I'm watching, such action feels premature. The camera stares at the tunnel where there might be survivors, waiting for someone to come out. And finally someone does, with gun pointing out. At Katniss.

Katniss is there. The camera didn't focus on her before, I don't know why, maybe waiting for a propos shot? A speech she was about to give? If that's what was happening, the sound equipment must not be set up yet. The peacekeeper says something, but I can't make it out. Then Katniss starts talking, but I can't hear that, either.

I'm suddenly seized with a panic. I hadn't quite realized what was going on until just this moment. Katniss is right there. Right when the war's about to end. Is this it? Is it all just going to be for nothing, after all this time?

I try to calm down. The peacekeeper with the gun doesn't look like he wants to fire. He keeps hesitating, even after Katniss has stopped talking. I sigh, relieved. It looks like everything is going to be fine.

Then, right as the sound comes on, with a heavy buzzing silence, only a few seconds later a shot rings out. And Katniss falls to the ground.


	18. Chapter 18

I groggily wake up in a hospital room on a hard bed. As I work on adjusting my eyes to the new environment, I see three people in the room, Haymitch, a doctor, and what looks like a soldier. I briefly catch a glance of Haymitch softly arguing with the doctor, but they quickly realize that I'm awake. Haymitch steps close to me almost immediately.

"You were freaking out back there over nothing. Katniss isn't dead. She was just shot."

A rush of energy runs through me. As heavy as my body feels, I have no trouble suddenly raising my arms and clasping both of my hands around Haymitch's neck, squeezing it hard. My teeth are clenched, and I can hear the friction as I speak through it.

"I do not ever," I say, taking a heavy breath, "ever want to hear about someone that was 'just shot' ever again."

Even though my point has been made, I don't want to let go. I feel like if I do, they'll all just forget what I said, go back to treating this war like a cynical game. I'm out of patience now. If I have to see one more atrocity we've had to commit for the greater good I'll strangle anyone who tries to rationalize it and make it all sound just fine.

It isn't long before the other two rush on over. The soldier holds me down while the doctor injects me with something. Whatever it is, it doesn't take long for me to lose consciousness and, I presume, loosen my grip on Haymitch.

The next time I wake up, I find that I've been completely tied down. When I look around, I see that Haymitch, now wearing a shirt that covers his neck, is the only one here, reading some papers. Once he sees that I'm up, he puts them down and stands, though he's careful not to get too close to me.

"You went berserk after watching that feed," he says wryly. "Took five soldiers to hold you down before you could hurt anyone else, or yourself."

I don't respond. While I don't remember anything like that, I can certainly believe it happened. It doesn't seem to take much for me to lose it these days.

"The part you missed was the complete surrender of whatever remaining Capitol forces were left in District Two. So, you should be glad to know that we have liberated all of Panem.

I sigh in relief. So that's it then- this living nightmare if finally over. No more war, no more destruction. Everyone can try to rebuild their shattered lives. I don't know if there's anything for me to do now, but at least I've been able to accomplish something.

"We considered having Katniss come in to bring you the news herself, but she's too busy right now preparing for the final assault on the Capitol. It's just as well- more for your benefit than hers, since she can't quite remember you that well."

"Wait," I say, straining to sit up, but not making much progress. "What did you just say?"

"She won't be in any danger, of course. We have a full team of all the attractive surviving tributes, ready to make for good propos. Katniss would have pestered us relentlessly if we'd tried to leave her out."

"No," I say, my voice rising, "what 'final assault on the Capitol'? What are you talking about? Didn't you just say we won? Panem is free. The Capitol doesn't even have the resources to survive on their own without supplies from the district. They're no threat to us now. Why are we attacking the Capitol?"

Haymitch blinks at me with astonishment, as if this is the most insane, demented question he has ever heard. He looks at me then he looks back and scratches his head. After a moment of this, he finally stares me straight in the eyes and starts talking.

"They still have nuclear weapons. That makes them dangerous-"

"Forget it," I say in sharp interruption. "If Snow had any way of hitting us with those he'd have done it by now. They've already lost, and you and I both know it. Why are we doing this?"

"What are you even thinking asking me that, Peeta!" Haymitch bellows, suddenly in a furious mood and smashing his hand into the wall. "Look at what the Capitol has done to us! They killed my whole family because I tricked some girl into throwing an axe off the edge of the cliff! They've killed nearly everyone you've ever loved and carried about! Our entire home was wiped out! And you have to ask why we need to march in the Capitol? Are you an idiot?"

"Marching in the Capitol isn't going to bring any of those people back," I say, biting my lip, trying to stay calm. "It will just kill more good soldiers who have already accomplished their mission, who have families to go back to."

Haymitch continues to stare at me, bewildered. "What's gotten into you, Peeta? You're just going to let that filth in the Capitol get away with all this? What's to stop them from trying all this again if we don't send them a clear message now?"

I close my eyes, and let myself see the images of my nightmares. First from the Hunger Games, and now those soldiers who were wounded fighting this war. "I don't have any stomach for violence anymore, not now, not again in this lifetime. I've seen too much." I open my eyes and look at Haymitch directly. "I can't go in front of those cameras and ask anyone else to die for this. Not when they don't have to."

Haymitch looks at me, and then almost belligerently, throws his hands up in the air. "If that's what you want, fine. It's like you said, Peeta. We've already won. We don't need your help. But just between you and me, you'd be a lot better off if you could just cooperate for a few more weeks."

With that, he gets out and leaves. I slump back down onto the bed, exhausted, tired, and uncertain. What am I supposed to do now? For the first time I get a look at this bare room. It's very plain, and the air is stuffy. I must be back in District Thirteen. I catch a sparkle out of the corner of my idea and look at the table right next to my bed. It's the locket, that old prop I've been carrying around this whole time. I try to grasp for it, but the way I'm tied down it's just barely out of reach.

Over the next couple of weeks I'm variously greeted by all manner of random people. District Thirteen officials, recovered soldiers who were wounded the last time I saw them on the front lines, and other current patients all pass in. We chat for a bit, and then they leave. I can't bother myself to remember any of their names. I've seen so many by this point that there isn't any single story that sticks itself out, that could make me want to believe in this war again. I'm sure that's what I want, but when I even think about helping again I feel chilly and cold. I won't be a part of this, but what happens when they let me out? What am I supposed to do with myself?

After fifteen days of confinement they finally let me go. One of the District Thirteen bureaucrats explains that I've been locked up because District Thirteen is worried that I'll get dangerous again and cause a scene. I'm only being released because I've offered assurances that I won't try anything funny, and even if I do, there's sure to be a soldier to put a stop to it. Only this time, I won't be put in the hospital for "medical problems", will be imprisoned in the same dank jail that Delly was. I want to ask about Delly, but I'm worried that simply mentioning her name will make them use her as some sort of leverage against me, and I'd rather not give them any ideas.

Once I start getting the tattoos again, I find that most of my assigned time seems to be in the kitchen with Greasy Sae. I suspect that this is to limit the contact I can have with anyone that might put a bad light on the rebellion, but it doesn't much matter. There's plenty of work for me to do as, I soon find out, lots of baked goods are needed for a wedding and I'm apparently the most capable baker in the entire district. It's for Finnick and Annie. This makes me feel a little better, since at least someone is getting what they want, but I cringe when I realize that that Finnick is probably a part of the same unit Katniss is in, making pretty propos to get good soldiers marching to their death. I shudder when I think about this, but none of it can be helped. I'm not invited to the wedding, apparently because I'm undergoing "intensive therapy". At least, that's what Annie alludes to in the nice card she sends me, going on about how sorry she is I couldn't be there.

It's actually comforting to forget for a while just what it means to be "Peeta". Now I'm just a nameless baker, working my family trade like how it used to be back in District Twelve. It's not a great distraction, but right now in my life, I need some time alone to try and relax. Being on the train the last several months has been enormously stressful- any kind of work that doesn't directly involve the war makes me calm down in comparison.

After about a week of this baking reprieve I get a surprise with my morning tattoo. After my first shift duties in the kitchen, it seems that today I'm supposed to meet with someone who I've never heard of before. The tattoo simply reads 1:00 – Meet with Kilo Jennings outside the compound.


	19. Chapter 19

After performing my first shift duties in the kitchen, I make my way to the surface. None of the guards show any surprise at seeing me- whatever this trip is about it's been cleared well in advance. When I finally get to the top and watch as a guard opens the door, I start squinting. It's been a long time since I've seen the sun. Almost immediately I can feel myself shudder. People die when they go outside. Even though I know that's only because of the war right now, the natural warmth makes me feel unsafe.

Aside from the guards, there's not many people out here. I see Haymitch and another man. He's middle-aged, a few inches shorter and wider than I am. His face looks very soft, and I can't decide whether he has a bad haircut or a bad toupee. His official-looking uniform has lots of buttons, but it looks extremely out of place outdoors.

"So," I say, cautiously. "What's all this about?"

Haymitch snorts. "I'm hoping that Mr. Jennings here can talk some sense into you, Peeta. You need to start thinking about your future."

With that, Haymitch and most of the guards walk right past me and head back inside. I stare at the man in front of me.

"Kilo Jennings?" I ask.

"Oh?" he says, brightening. "So you recognize me?"

I shake my head, and hold up my arm, showing him the tattoo. "This thing says I was supposed to talk to you today, but I have no idea who you are."

He stares at the tattoo, appearing crestfallen. "We have met, a few times you know. At the Capitol, the various parties, back when you were attending because of your status as a victor of the Hunger Games. You really don't remember me? The Minister of Technology?"

I shake my head. I'd met so many people at those parties after awhile I just stopped paying attention to any of them. I don't remember much about ministers or anything like that at the Capitol either. It's not even clear to me what sort of government it's supposed to have.

"Well," he says, "I suppose that doesn't really matter. Why don't we talk a walk?"

I look into the nearby greenery, and hesitantly nod my head in agreement mainly because I don't walk to talk to him just standing around like this. The openness out here is stifling. Every time there's a rustling anywhere I dart around to make sure it's not a soldier preparing to jump out and shoot us. I find myself quick to talk just to get my mind off of how suspicious everything feels.

"So, Mr. Jennings," I say.

"Call me Kilo."

"All right, Kilo, what exactly is this all about? Why should I care who you are, and why are we out here taking a walk?"

"Well, first let me say that it's an honor to meet you in a more intimate setting, Peeta. I've always been a fan, from your very first Hunger Games. You just have such a wonderful story behind you. Very inspirational."

This is a statement I have heard more times than I care to remember, and no matter how much I think about it, it still makes no sense. The Hunger Games were cruel and brutal, and the thought of keeping Katniss alive was about the only thing that kept me from going completely insane. Who, exactly, am I inspiring to do what?

"Anyway," he says, continuing, "as you may have guessed, it's no longer completely accurate to call me the Minister of Technology. I'm a defector to the cause of the Rebellion. Haymitch asked me to speak with you because he says you have some sort of irrational concern for the lives of Capitol citizens. As I was a Capitol citizen myself, my story may cause you to change your mind."

Haymitch appears to have misunderstood why I was so upset about the war continuing. I could care less about the citizens of the Capitol. Our own soldiers are the ones who are going to be dying for nothing. As much as I want revenge against the Capitol, it's not worth ruining the lives of our own people just to get it.

"My technological talents were first recognized while I was studying at university," Kilo says, getting right into his story and apparently not noticing my muted reaction. My older sister was President Snow's secretary. She bragged about my accomplishments to him whenever she had the chance- we were orphans. Our parents had been murdered when we were young. They were well-off financially, with high-ranking government jobs and pensions, so my sister and I were able to get by. We felt all the more pressure to succeed, knowing that Mom and Dad expected a lot out of us."

"When I graduated from school, thanks to Snow's help, I had the opportunity to apprentice under the greatest technical minds of our generation. I assisted with most of the infrastructure improvements of the last fifteen years. I helped to improve the speed and efficiency of the railroad tracks, the fuel efficiency measures necessary to make expanded hoverplane use more practical, as well as the revitalization of most of Panem's video streaming technology. I'm sure there's more I'm forgetting- I threw myself into all the work I could, trying to familiarize myself with everything.

"Five years ago, after I had finished with nearly all of this, Snow finally appointed me to the position of Minister of Technology. It was the proudest day of my life. Unfortunately, my sister was no longer around to see what I had done. She had died of food poisoning a few years earlier. I think that might have been part of why I worked so hard- I didn't just have Mom and Dad to make proud now, but my big sister, too.

We stop for a moment as a cool breeze flies past us. Kilo seems to be lost in thought for a moment, but when it dies down, we start walking again. He picks up the story at a place a bit more pertinent to our our present situation.

"When you and Johanna broke out of the Hunger Games last year, I was put in charge of the interrogation of Finnick and Beetee. I had, of course, been involved with the development of much of the Capitol's modern torture technology. Electroshocks, hallucinatory concoctions, mild bio-weapons, that sort of thing. While I was chosen for in part because of the strength of my loyalty to the Capitol, there was also the matter of Beetee. Beetee could easily bamboozle most torturers simply by giving them literal information- technical terminology incomprehensible except to a learned man of my caliber. I gladly accepted the assignment- I wanted to do my part to help the Capitol against the Rebellion."

"But as it turned out, Beetee was not the prisoner who occupied most of my time. After a few days of intense torture, Finnick had completely cracked. In a desperate effort to stop the pain, he started going on and on about 'secrets', which just seemed to be random bits of gossip about well-known individuals in the Capitol. I mostly ignored his transcripts, but as I was skimming over one set, I saw a secret that chilled me. 'Marta Jennings was poisoned when Snow discovered she was carrying his granddaughter.' I knew that she had been seeing Snow's son, that he was married, that they had to sneak around. But, I only knew that because she confided everything in me. No one else was supposed to, to keep the reputation of our family intact. And yet here was Finnick, not even a Capitol citizen, and he knew."

"I thought about what happened back then. I remember that I never got a copy of the autopsy report. I had just thought it was lost in the mail. It didn't seem to matter- Snow had personally promised me that those responsible for the poisoning would be brought to justice, and they were. I watched the executions of those involved in the food preparation. But now I realized that there was an alternate interpretation of those events that I could not disprove, because all the evidence was either lost or destroyed."

"You should know, Peeta, that torture is not an especially effective interrogation technique- we use it mainly to send a lesson to other potential traitors. After a certain point, people will say anything to make the pain stop. So I made a personal, unofficial visit to Finnick. I told him that his torture would continue, that I couldn't stop it, but that if he was sure to only tell the 'secrets' he was positive were true, that I could protect Annie for him. He readily agreed. I found that when I investigated these 'secrets', they were all the same as my story. There was an official sequence of events, and the 'secret' one which could easily be disproved, except that all the relevant evidence just so happened to no longer be available."

Abruptly, Kilo stops walking. Once we're standing still, he whips around to look straight at me.

"Well, that's it. That's what happened. Do you understand now? I thought Snow was my friend, but he lied to me. All of my so-called friends lied to me. They must have suspected something, but no one dared to talk to me about it. And this had happened to so many other people, too. The Capitol is decadence incarnate, Peeta. It must be destroyed."

Of all the things to do, I know that laughing is the least appropriate. And yet at that very moment, looking at Kilo's contorted face, swelled with rage, it was taking nearly all of my willpower to avoid doing just that.

"Th-that's your argument?" I say, trying to stifle the rising sound in my throat.

"What's so funny?" he says angrily. "This is my family! All of them killed by the Capitol, by Snow! If it can happen to the Minister of Technology, it could happen to anyone! The Capitol must be destroyed!"

"Well," I say, slowing down a bit, "I'll admit, you make a good emotional argument for killing Snow. But what does any of this have to do with invading the Capitol? Killing countless people on both sides?"

Kilo stares at me, incredulous. "The Capitol must be destroyed," he repeats, blankly.

"Snow is a monster because he killed your sister, I see that," I say. "But what makes you any different, taking out that kind of revenge indiscriminately against everyone?"

Now Kilo just doesn't say anything. I can almost see his mind whirring into action, trying to figure out where my statements could possibly be coming from.

"I'm not playing these games anymore," I say. "I don't know why everyone thinks we can fix what's already happened by just going out and killing more people."

"But," Kilo stammers, "what about Katniss? You killed people to save her, didn't you?"

"Because I had to," I snapped. "And there's something else you and everyone else seems to forget about that. I was not just willing to kill for her. I would have died for her, too. I would still die to save her even now if I could. I would sooner do that than take any other human life ever again."

I'm starting to feel mad about this whole topic of conversation. Does anyone even care about what war, what killing people is actually about, or is it just a bunch of stupid abstractions? I'm sick of these grudges. I turn around and start walking back, even though we're probably walking in a circle and it would be faster to go forward.

"Wait!" cries Kilo. "Where are you going? We're not done yet."

"Oh yes," I say, "yes we are. And you can tell anyone else who wants to talk to me about petty revenge schemes that they can go choke themselves. I'm going to go bake a cake."


	20. Chapter 20

A couple of days after my meeting with Kilo I come back to my room and find Haymitch sitting in a chair, going over some papers. I'm sure that they're his papers and not mine. I haven't had much cause to write anything these days, although that still doesn't explain why he's in my room. I make a loud coughing noise. Haymitch slowly looks up at me, as if he's surprised to find me here, coming back to my own room and all.

"Well hello Peeta," he says, holding out his hand as if I am to shake it. "How are you?"

Haymitch's forced formality sounds ridiculous, though that may have been part of his intent. He withdraws his hands and sighs, beginning to speak in a more serious tone of voice.

"Peeta, I should have explained this earlier, and a little more specifically, because now that I think about it, you really have no idea what's going on here, do you?"

I slowly shake my head, and Haymitch continues. "At this point it's all political. We know that we're going to win the war. The question is what's going to happen afterwards."

"What does any of this have to do with me?" I say, demurely.

Haymitch sighs again. "Peeta what names come to your mind when you think about the President of Panem?"

"Coin," I say, after a moment of thinking it over.

"Who else?"

"Who else could there possibly be?" I ask. "All the politicians either worked for the Capitol before or work for District Thirteen now. District Thirteen's the only one that's even had a political system, and Coin's at the top of it."

"You're thinking about this too rationally," Haymitch snorts. "In an election you can vote for anyone. They don't have to be competent. They just have to be liked. Think really, really hard."

I close my eyes and put my hand on my forehead, trying to focus. Someone popular that people would vote for president. We've been at war this whole time. Who's had time to be popular? Who is there that everyone would even recognize? I open my eyes wide, suddenly realizing what Haymitch means. I look up and see him nodding.

"That's completely insane," I say, sputtering. "I don't know how to run a country. And I don't want to run a country, either."

"Perhaps not you, personally, then" Haymitch admits, "but any candidate with your support could potentially defeat Coin, or at least make things very inconvenient for her."

"I'm not interested," I say. I had been thinking about what to do after the war, but none of it has anything to do with politics. I'm sick of this place. I'm sick of everything. I'd like to see if there's anything outside of Panem. I could just keep going in one direction to see what I could find. See if there are any other people out there who have done a better job than us.

"You'll forgive President Coin," Haymitch says deliberately, while slowly getting up, "if she doesn't just take your word for it. All we want is for you to do one announcement, right as we begin the final offensive push in a couple of days. Once you've done that, you won't have any more obligation to anyone."

I stare at him as he walks toward the door right past me. He stops right before reaching it and whispers into my ear:

"You're not going to be able to stop any of this, no matter what you do. The sooner you accept it the better off you'll be."  
He moves past me and I breathe out. I let myself fall down onto my bed, exhausted. This is all too depressing to contemplate.

The next day I find I have another tattoo stating I need to meet with Kilo Jennings outside. Yesterday I would have just blown it off, but I get the feeling that there were things he wanted to mention in our last meeting that he didn't get a chance to.

This time it seems like there are even fewer guards than there were before. I guess they've decided that if something happens to me out here it wouldn't be that big of a loss. Kilo is wearing a less formal outfit this time, just generally business-like suits instead of the full regalia. It looks more comfortable for this weather. His clothing is a stark contrast to my own- I didn't bother changing out of my low-grade baking clothes. The meeting isn't worth that much effort, although now that I'm thinking more "reasonably" as Haymitch would put it, I feel the initiative to ask a few more questions.

"So," I say, as we start walking, "we all know this is just a big political game, right? We're waiting for the aftermath?" I don't think we're out of earshot of the guards yet, but I don't really care. "What I'd like to know is what you have to do with all of this. What useful thing can you do for them?"

Kilo looks a little shocked, but not upset. I think he's relieved to realize that I'm actually willing to listen to him, even if I'm more blunt than he'd like.

"I'm the obvious choice to be the new Minister of Technology for the united Panem," he says, walking very straight. "There's a great deal of infrastructure in Panem that no one knows how to use except me. Your typical District Thirteen technocrat won't have any idea what to do with it, and everyone else is working for the Capitol."

"It's not guaranteed, then?" I say as casually as I can.

"No," he says, looking a little more down. "I've done lots of smaller things for the Capitol. I let the men who worked under me leak Finnick's secrets. Did quite a bit of damage to the morale of the Peacekeepers, I assure you. No one's left in the Capitol who has much confidence in Snow's government. Makes it much harder to fight for them."

"Uh-huh," I say, dimly taking this information in. I'm not convinced that this was something he did deliberately to aid the rebellion so much as something he didn't bother trying to prevent. "So if you can talk me into making just one more public address in support of the war, you get the position?"

"Yes. I mean- hey!" It seems that Kilo wasn't thinking very carefully about who he's been talking to for the past several minutes. "Oh, well, fine," he says, sadly. It's supposed to be the grand finale. Peeta's last public address, made available to every single view-screen in Panem, including the Capitol."

This sounds familiar. I seem to remember Coin explaining about the view-screens at one point, though I can't recall what her point was. Kilo continues-

"It will finally be something flashy that only I can do. Plutarch was so lucky. It was easy for him to defect, everyone knows about the Head Gamemaster, but nobody has any idea who actually builds the basis for all this technology ow"

Kilo appears to have been walking distracted, as he walked right into a rock and managed to skin the ankle right above his shoes. He's walking and talking faster than he was the other day, I guess because this topic makes him more excited. I spy a fallen log and move us over to it, holding onto his arm for balance. We both sit down.

"I'll level with you, Kilo," I say. "I think I'm probably going to go ahead and do it. I don't even care about Panem anymore, but this is the last conflict going on here. Once I'm done with this, there won't be anything left and I can just leave in peace."

"Oh, good," says Kilo, nodding and relieved. "I'm glad to hear that."

"I know. I think that I don't really care much about living right now, but that doesn't mean I want to die, either. For all we know, there's something better out there," I say, gesturing out to the wilderness.

Actually, now that I look at it the scene really is quite beautiful. All the plants are blooming, and everything is looking very green. If I look around I can see animals darting around everywhere. I get up to try and take a smell of some flowers. And then, without warning, almost predictably, I start remembering. About the book I made with Katniss, where we went over all of these in detail. I drew these flowers. She doesn't remember me anymore. And after I make this speech, she'll probably end up dead. I can't help myself. I start crying.

"Hey, there," says Kilo, tepidly, "are you feeling all right?" He inches closer. "Is there anything I can do?"

I let out a cold, short "ha". There's nothing Kilo can do about Katniss. He probably doesn't know anything about flowers, either. He's just a technical guy who defected over from the Capitol-

I stop, and my eyes quickly dry. Haymitch was wrong. There is something I can do to try and put a stop to all this. It might not work, but it's definitely worthy a try. I stand up.

"Yes," I say, suddenly. Kilo is a bit taken aback, since it's been several seconds since I asked that question. I put on a broad smile. "Come on. Let's go back to the bunker. We'll go and tell them that you persuaded me. Today is a new day. I'll go back to helping the war effort, and we'll all live happily ever after."

Kilo nods his head, looking distantly back to the bunker. "Let's hurry, then. No matter what I wear it always seems really itchy out here."


	21. Chapter 21

I quickly make it clear to most of District Thirteen that while I've agreed to one final speech, I don't particularly like it Eventually they decide that there's little point in asking me to work with anyone except for Kilo, the only person who I make any effort of acting nice to. He's overjoyed at this, diligently asking my opinion on proper lighting, backdrops, and costumes for the speech. He has no sense of style- his technical background really shows. But I humor his responses, mainly so I can get at what I really want to talk to him about.

"So," I say as casually as I can, "you don't really believe that your parents were killed all that time ago by rebellion sympathizers, do you?"

Kilo cringes visibly. Part of me is a little surprised that he just doesn't tell me to mind my own business. But every successive time he comes in to see me, his mood is always just a little brighter. I've had time to think about why. I think that his decision to betray the Capitol was a heavier one that even he fully realizes. He wasn't a sympathizer with the rebellion until he found out about his sister. Until that happened, he was one of the guys who helped to find and execute traitors. No matter how valuable he is, this won't endear him to the rebellion, and whatever friends or acquaintances he had before the war will either be dead or hate him forever by the time this is over with. I'm probably the closest thing to a friend he has right now. Considering I practically just met him it's kind of pathetic. But then again, I'm in the same situation.

"Well," he says, "it always seemed logical, so I did believe it in the past. I know it's probably not true, but whatever happened to them I'm not going to find out about it now, so it's not worth worrying about."

At another meeting I ask him about President Snow. My speech contains multiple references to the man, but I know little about him except what he looks like and the fact that he's a generally horrible person. I act as if the context of President Snow matters in my speech, but I know full well that nobody knows or cares anything about Snow except the two facts I'm already aware of.

"You said he helped you," I say, having to swallow my words for the next part. "Is it possible that he's not as bad as everyone says he is?"

Kilo fidgets uncomfortably. I can tell that I've struck a nerve. Before he found out about his sister, he probably defended Snow to anyone who spoke badly of him.

"I think," he says, carefully considering this question, "no, I don't think. I don't think people are completely evil, even Snow. He was nice to me. He really was. He would have kept being nice to me, I think, if the rebellion hadn't happened, if I hadn't found out anything."

"But didn't you tell me once that he only wanted you for your technological skills?"

"He did, but, I mean," he says, biting his lip. "I really don't know what would have happened to me if my sister hadn't told him what I was good at. When my parents died, we didn't have any family left. There weren't any friends either, for that matter. Not everyone in the Capitol has a good life, you know. There are slums, people who have trouble getting by. That could have been me."

There are plenty of directions for this conversation to go, but I have to steer things toward technical matters when I'm convinced that the guard at the door to my room is looking at us. I'm probably just being paranoid, but there's plenty of technical ground for us to cover.

"So," I say, "the session's going to be recorded, right?"

He nods. I certainly suspected as much. There's no way they would trust me with a live feed. "There's enough going on, though, that they won't expect anyone but me to actually mess around with the footage before submitting it for final approval. You don't need to worry about any of that."

"I don't have any idea how most of that stuff works, to be quite honest. Would you mind explaining it to me?"

Kilo's eyes light up. He immediately goes into a full technical explanation that I don't understand and I doubt anyone else would either. Whatever else Kilo may be I don't think he's an egotist. He probably is the most technologically capable man left in Panem. I doubt he's just regurgitating information from some technical tour. He's likely explored every single aspect of the system whenever he's had the opportunity out of sheer curiosity.

In the last meeting we have before it is time to do the recording, I finally ask him the big question.

"What are your plans for the future?"

"Well, by the time we're through, the country is going to be destroyed. I'm sure they'll have plenty of use for someone like me."

Now it's my turn to wince, though I try not to show it. "No, I mean what about you personally? Everything you've told me about your life is how you've been doing things for other people. Are you fine with that being the rest of your life? Only this time, you're answering to different people instead?"

He shrugs. "Such is the fate of the technologically gifted. We come up with the ideas. We don't know how to implement them."

"Why do you take that for granted?" I ask. "The history books says that we used to live in a great civilization, until one day, a bunch of non-thinking scientists created weapons so powerful they destroyed nearly everything on the planet."

"Technological process is inevitable."

"Then why do we need you anyway? Are you just a fancy? Or are you Kilo Jennings, a man with freedom of thought?"

He sighs. "Peeta, I really don't know where you're going with this."

"I just think it's worth thinking about. If you're fine with being remembered as 'Technological Genius', that's fine. I just think you could be something more. All I'm asking is that you think about it."

Part of me feels like a manipulator for getting close to Kilo like this. But at the same time, when I look at his eyes while he mulls over what I'm talking about, I get the impression that this is the first time anyone has ever asked him these questions, and that he's never thought about it himself. I wonder how many men like Kilo are still working for Snow right now, who are able to rationalize it the same way he used to. Maybe this is why the Capitol was so cruel to even the victor tributes. They expected complete obedience. But none of us, when it came right down to it, no matter how much we wanted to, could avoid remembering the horrible things we've had to do.

It's a very quiet march down to the lower levels where Kilo is going to take my final recording. It's the smallest studio they have- only a few people can be in there at once. It's going to be me to make the recording, Kilo to process the technological processes, and a couple of soldiers because it's now basic operating procedure to have soldiers follow me wherever I go. Right before we enter the room, I make one simple remark to Kilo.

"Do you think your family would be proud of you, where you are right now?"

"Oh, definitely," he says strongly. But as we wait for the soldier to open the door, he bites his lip. "Well, maybe, at least, I think so."

Me, Kilo, and one of the soldiers enters the room while the other waits outside. Nobody is there, and the set's already been put up. It's a very simple arrangement by my specific request. In the outside room, there's nothing but a couple of old chairs and the recording system, which Kilo is working to activate. The soldier who came in with us moves to unlock the door. I watch him carefully as he fumbles the keys. He finds the right one out, and finally unlocks the door. Right at that instant when I hear the mechanical click, I make my move. With a quick rush, I hit him as hard as I can in the back of the head and grab his gun as he gets down. With another quick movement, and my adrenaline pumping, I take a chair and jam it under the knob of the outside door right as the other soldier realizes something's gone wrong. He starts pounding the door demanding to be let back in. It's at this point that Kilo looks up from the monitor and sees what's going on.

"What the- Peeta! What are you doing?"  
Mentally, I know that I have to stick to the plan- that I need to point the gun at Kilo. But in spite of everything I've been working for, I find that I just can't do it. It would just be another lie. I put the gun down on the console, where Kilo can easily grab it.

"I think I can do it," I say. "I think I can stop the war."

"Are you insane!" he hisses in a loud whisper, as if he thinks anyone can hear him in here. "They'll kill us both!" he cries, stopping to wipe his rapidly sweating brow, "they'll blame me and say it was my idea. No, they'll blame me anyway. Have you any idea what you've done?" His anger is palpable, and I can see him eying the gun. But as he stares at it, his eyes widen.

"You really meant it, didn't you? You're trying to get yourself killed, but for what? Whatever you're planning, it won't work!"

"I don't care," I say, stubbornly. "I'm tired of being a toy in the Games. Not the Hunger Games, not anymore. All this," I say waving my arms around. "Katniss never wanted to marry me. Snow threatened her into doing it. The plan was that I was never going to find out, that everyone was going to pretend it was a happy ending. Snow did the same thing to you. It just took you longer to find out about it."

My face is feeling wet. I realize I hadn't meant to tell him this. I didn't even tell Delly these kinds of specifics. But I don't care who I confide in right now, not when it's going to be over soon. Kilo tries to be rational.

"We're going to get Snow soon, once this propo is finished. Then it will all be over."

"People will die from this attack that don't need to!" I yell. "Don't you get it? This is just a part of Snow's ego trip! For all of us little ants to get ourselves killed trying to take him out! I will not give him that satisfaction! You told me the Capitol doesn't trust Snow anymore. I think we need to give them a chance. If they give up Snow, there's no point in continuing the war."

Kilo is still staring at the gun. The fact that he hasn't done anything yet is the only thing that gives me hope. I start up again.

"Maybe I am crazy for wanting to die. But tell me, Kilo, just what do you have to live for?"

He starts blinking furiously. Before he can come to any accord we hear a loud crash. I turn around. There are more soldiers out there now, and it sounds like they have some kind of battering ram for the door. Then, almost as quickly as it started, it stops. I see a current lightly cracking up around the door.

"I can give you ten minutes, maybe fifteen," Kilo says, furiously typing away. "But we're both going to be dead by then, anyway. This better be the speech of your life."

I smile, nod my thanks, and head in. I take a seat quickly, and don't take too much note of my bearings. I've spent enough time preparing. Now, I need to speak.


	22. Chapter 22

"Hello. This is Peeta Mellark speaking. I have an important message for all residents of Panem engaged or affected by current combat operations."

I hate this opening line. It sounds goofy. But as much as I tried I couldn't come up with anything better. I steal a brief glance to Kilo. He's typing incredibly fast on multiple consoles in the room at once, hardly paying any attention to me. I find myself wondering how much of his decision to help was influenced by the challenge of seeing how long he could keep out this many soldiers at once. I take a breath, focusing on what's next.

"Over the past several weeks I have not been participating in field operations, due to an injury I sustained while exiting the District Three theatre of combat," I say, trying to avoid disdain on the word 'injury'. "Because of this I've had a great deal of time to carefully consider what exactly this was has meant for me. Several years ago I made a decision that completely changed my life, though I didn't realize it at the time. I deliberately burned a piece of bread, made it unsellable, and was beaten for it, all because there was a girl whose family was starving and needed every scrap of food they could get until their oldest daughter qualified for tesserae, as all of us do, at the age of twelve. This is how those of us who live in the Districts suffer, though forbidden as we were from communicating with anyone outside our hometown we never quite realized this was the case."

The pounding at the door is so loud just now I'm worried it was picked up by the microphone, but Kilo quickly does something and it disappears. I have to be sure to avoid missing anything. Up until this point I've followed my script. Now is where I start to tweak it.

"Those of you in the Capitol may have never heard of any of this before. Many of you may have genuinely believed, however absurd it sounds to us, that we enjoyed the festivities and celebration behind the Hunger Games, that we saw the Capitol as a benevolent benefactor, and that life was good. I can hardly the count the number of times I met a Capitol citizen, even before I survived the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games, who had a positive attitude about the upcoming competition. People who genuinely seemed to like me, even as my probable death became more and more imminent. At first I couldn't fathom why you had the attitude they did. But as I spoke to other victors, and for the first time found a perspective from people who had lived outside the mining community of District Twelve, I remembered our early, implicit instruction to never, ever talk about how bad our lives were back in the Districts. Such 'negative thinking' was bad for the cameras. In reality, it was bad for you. It's been seventy six years since the first rebellion. You can't hate us now the way you did back then. So all the show, all the celebration now, was just to convince you that you weren't doing something horrible."

"When I think about where all this monstrous evil comes from, I always want to think 'the Capitol', but I think our enemy is simpler than that- Snow. This alleged 'president' has been the complete ruler of Panem for several decades. There is no meaningful opposition to his rule. Anyone that even thinks of coming up with some opinion that might mildly inconvenience him are found in a short time to be conveniently disposed. Snow's rule and edicts have been brutal for us, but what exactly have they achieved for you? Today, rebellion forces are going to mount a final offensive on your city. You will be destroyed. Whatever Snow's propaganda is telling you is a lie- we have already freed all the districts from the Capitol's control and routed your forces. This is a simple fact that no degree of hatred toward the rebellion is going to change. You now have some small understanding of the terror felt by us in the districts as we went day after day wondering how many of us were going to starve to death. I was luckier than most. I only had to decide whether it was worth getting beaten to show kindness to someone, giving them a burnt piece of bread."

"All of this cruelty is the fault of Snow. He could have shown the slightest bit of kindness to us in the districts and averted this crisis. Instead he brutalized all of Panem. He went to any lengths to avoid showing you the world as it really was. And on top of all that, he failed. The misery of your lives today can attest to that fact. He has failed all of us as a leader. With his incompetence he has doomed many of your people to death, and many others to lives of suffering when District Thirteen inevitably takes control of your shattered city, and takes vengeance upon you for Snow's crimes. Directly or not, you in the Capitol have done awful things to us in the Districts which may never be atoned for. But if you're willing to try, you may be able to undo some of the damage. Give up Snow. Surrender the city. Your goodwill in accepting the horror of what has been done won't fix everything, but I can guarantee you that the consequences of a surrender will be far superior conditions than what will happen if the rebellion army comes in to take him by force.

I take a deep breath. I wasn't sure I would have enough time for this part, but I'm glad I do. I steal a glance at the door. I can't hear anything but it looks badly misshaped as a result of whatever the soldiers outside are doing to it. I take out the locket.

"Think about your loved ones right now," I say, opening the locket, deliberately displaying each and every picture the same way I did to Katniss last year. "Is it really worth the suffering you're going through right now, what your family is going through, the inevitability that many of you are going to die as a result of today's attack- all of this, just to support the failed regime of one man? Snow's ego isn't worth your lives or ours. The great tragedy I think of is all the people who have died so far, completely needlessly, because one man wanted to wreak vengeance for the sins of our great grandfathers instead of showing common human compassion." I linger on the picture of Katniss, and feel a tear come to eye. "I told Katniss not to get killed. That there were people back home counting on her coming back. The same is true for every soldier out there today who's decided to die for this stupid war. Is fighting today really more important than getting back to your loved ones? You have a future to look forward to. Don't throw it away."

I try to think. Was there anything else left in the speech? I don't think I expected that I would make it all the way through. And I've never really thought too deeply about what I wanted to talk about. But suddenly the tragedy of what I've said just hits me. I don't want anyone to die. I don't want anyone to survive and hate whoever did it. Then it will all keep happening again and again. I can't help myself now. I break down and start weeping, burying my head I my hands.

"Please stop hating," I say, stammering the words out in between sobs, feeling like a complete wreck compared to the confident poise I had at the beginning of this speech. "Please, just don't hate anymore. It's not going to help."

Not long after that I hear a pounding crash. I look up just in time hear another crash as the door to the recording room flies straight into the opposite wall and soldiers charge in. I try to look up and see Kilo, but he's already been knocked down and hardly a moment later that's where I am, too, knocked violently to the ground held down by an agitated soldier.

"Sir!" he's crying to a man just outside the room that I can barely make out but seems to be the person of authority. "I have him! What now?"

I can barely catch the officer out of the corner of my eye. He seems to be speaking to someone else. He ambles into the recording with a transmitter up next to his ear.

"What's going on over there?" he's shouted. "Yes, I know she's the President but this is an emergency! Does she know what he's been doing? What's gotten out to the enemy?"

He hears something over the line that clearly angers him, and he violently throws the device at a nearby soldier who somehow manages to catch it. He's now muttering angrily.

"What could possibly be going on right now that's more important than this? Do these idiots have any idea what's going on right now?"

"Sir?" says the soldier, still gripping me with renewed tightness. "What should I do?"

The officer angrily waves his hand. "Just deal with him for now. We'll take care of the consequences later."

The soldier gives a quick nod and then, about as fast, I feel myself being struck. I'm not sure what just happened, and I don't have time to think as I lose consciousness.


	23. Chapter 23

My favorite spatula is gone forever. I didn't mean to lose it. I can't even figure out how I lost it. It's a spatula. It's big, almost as long as my arm. I always took such care, such effort, to make sure that nothing bad ever happened to it, and then one day it just disappears. I realize it's gone after just five minutes, distinctly remembering that I'd only just had it in my hands and put it down somewhere, and then I moved, and it was gone. And I couldn't find it anywhere in our little bakery, even though that's the only place it could be.

I panic. I start bawling and crying and losing myself over the spatula. It takes my mother having to smack me across the face to make me stop carrying on. But even then I can't forget about the spatula. It was a birthday present from my father. And now I was never going to see it again.

This all happened when I was nine years old. I remember that. And I remember everything else that happens. I realize that I'm having another nightmare. Normally they're genuinely terrifying. Something bad happens to someone I know, usually Katniss. But this time all I can feel is overwhelming grief for this one replaceable inanimate object. Even knowing all that I do, I can't hold back the tears. Because as simple as that spatula was, I was terrified of what important thing I would lose next, and had no idea how I could stop it.

When I wake up, I'm in numb shock. I guess I'd thought that maybe that dream was just the beginning of how I was going to relive my life before fading off into the darkness, and finding peace. There's no reason for me to be alive now. Is this just some preamble to secret, eternal torture?

This is the same simple hospital room I'm always in. There's no decorations or anything remotely cheery. It's all just really bland. The only thing that's missing is someone for me to talk to. There's always one of those. And I'm only left alone with my thoughts for a few minutes before the doors opens and someone comes in without even knocking. I'm not really thinking who it could be, since it doesn't seem like it really matters. But once I recognize him, I can't help but stammer in shock-

"Gale!"

"Huh," he says, cocking an eyebrow and tossing his head back slightly. "So you're awake, and I must be the first person you've seen. How fortunate for me."

He sits down in the room's only chair, looking at me carefully. In spite of myself, I have to admit he looks fairly handsome. His uniform is extremely impressive and brings out most of his best features. The tough solidarity of a miner perfectly molded into a soldier. After accepting this, I finally give up and have to say something.

"What could you possibly have to say to me?" I say, a little ruder than I had wanted to. I bite my lip. "I'm sorry. That didn't come out right."

"Oh, it's all right," he says casually. "I thought about how I would have to have this talk with you, and I had to admit there really wasn't any way to do it that wasn't awkward. No one else is really…ready to see you yet. It's all very emotionally raw for them. I've hardly ever even spoke to you, so aside from all the obvious reasons, that made me the best choice to explain to you the reality of what's been going on this whole time."

He stops, as if waiting for a reaction and seems confused when he doesn't get one, looking at me oddly. I realize what he's getting at.

"I've already figured out everyone's been lying to me. I just don't really know or care which specific parts are lies anymore."

"Well, if you say so," Gale says, shrugging. "But the only way to explain what happened with that little speech you made is to explain everything that's been going on, so you're going to be caught up to date whether you like it or not."

I don't know that I like Gale's attitude. He seems kind of vaguely pushy. Still, it's hard to ignore his basic charm. He sounds so indifferent to my feelings. Maybe that would seem insensitive usually, but I just about broke down back there. I didn't even realize until I woke up that I've basically turned suicidal. I think it's because I'm tired of reasoning with people. It seems so hopeless right now.

"The first thing you need to know is that Katniss having amnesia was a lie. Well, sort of. You saw how she was when we first got back. She didn't have any of her senses. She certainly couldn't remember anything. But her memories weren't gone forever. Through slow, careful therapy, she was able to remember who she was, and who her friends and family were."

"I know that," I say. "Johanna mentioned it to me. She even said something about us meeting in the middle when all the districts had been liberated."

"That was just a guess," Gale says, sighing, bowing his head down a bit. "Although not really a bad one, considering the circumstances. The truth is, Peeta, that Katniss remembers more than she wanted to. I tried to avoid bringing up anything that could remind her, but she kept pushing. She remembered that you both were tributes. Then the nightmares started, and she tried desperately to stop. She begged me to keep giving her distractions, books, video feeds, activities, anything so she could avoid having a moment's rest because she would start thinking about it again, remembering. She got obsessed with the situation in District Two. She studied it relentlessly from every possible angle because the problem was complicated enough that it could consume hours of her time. Once she actually arrived there, every waking moment was dedicated to it. For her it was a blessing. Katniss told me that her nightmares were still bad in District Two, but they were fuzzier. There wasn't as much to remember when she woke up."

Gale looks up and stares at my face. I know why immediately. I'm crying again. It's not loud, it's mostly just a salty drizzle of tears down my face. I'd thought she could at least avoid the nightmares, but she wasn't that lucky.

"They really are terrible, aren't they?" he says. "The nightmares. Katniss wouldn't describe them to me in any detail, but it's scary even being anywhere near her. We couldn't even posts guards around her room because they kept calling false alarms about her being attacked."

"They're…definitely bad," I say, finding I can't be much more specific than Katniss. I find myself feeling very self-conscious, crying in front of Gale of all people. "You must think I'm ridiculous," I say, wiping some of it off. "I've been such a wreck lately, while the rest of you are out fighting this war."

"Well, the thought had occurred to me," Gale admitted. "We didn't tell Katniss anything about you, just like no one told you anything about Katniss. I think she suspected how you felt, even without remembering anything about the Games specifically, because of the whole incident with the bread. She faintly recalled that you weren't dead, as far as she knew, and didn't want to know any more facts on that count. It was actually her idea to avoid letting anyone know about how her memories were recovering. This was completely inconsistent with her later desire to go to District Two, but I think at that point the pain had gotten to be so much for her that she just decided she'd avoid you later. This was made a bit easier when you freaked out after she was shot. Although that did leave to one awkward point."

There was an uncomfortable pause that after a moment I felt I had to break. "And what was that?"

"Well, after you strangled Haymitch, the idea was floated around with military operations personnel that we could kill you and claim that you had been hit in a desperate enemy attack right after Katniss was shot. I think it probably would have gone through except for one reason."

There was another uncomfortable pause. Again, I find myself having to break the tension. "And that was?"

"I told them that now that they had broached the plan while I was present they couldn't do it. I couldn't lie to Katniss about what happened. It would be a serious betrayal, one that would crush her if she ever found out."

"That's reassuring," I say, glibly.

"Yeah, well, it's easy to want to protect Katniss. I'm sure you understand the feeling."

In spite of the subtext of that exchange I find myself smiling. Gale smiles back. They're sad smiles. It's what the situation calls for. That's what this war seems to be all about. And then I remember. The war.

"Gale," I say, "what happened with the war? With Katniss? What's going on out there?"

Before Gale has much of a chance to react a soldier opens the door. He starts speaking quickly.

"Sir, your presence is required upstairs in the cabinet office immediately. I must insist you come with me."

"All right, just a moment" Gale says, sighing. He stands up heading out, than turns back to me. "I'm afraid I'll have to get back to you on this at a later time."

"It's fine, what's a slightly longer wait anyway?" I ask as they go out the door. I exhale a small breath. I wonder if that might have helped me, if I'd just demanded more distractions. I have to dismiss this idea fairly quickly. There are too many failures in the work I've done, too many bad memories that aren't going to go away. The worst part about remembering all this is that now I'm scared to forget it, or else it might just happen again.


	24. Chapter 24

I remain bedridden for the next two days. No other visitors come to see me, or for that matter even doctors or nurses. I think they only come in when I'm sleeping, which admittedly isn't that hard to do. All I've been doing since I woke up is go back to sleep. It's honestly a bit of a disappointment that there doesn't seem to be that much wrong with me. I don't have anything left to do, but knowing about all of the people wounded in the war who can only wish they were as healthy as me, I just feel guilty. If I have the strength to do anything it seems like I ought to do something, but I just don't want to. Thinking about my future means thinking about what's happened since I was out, and that will only make me feel even worse. And then, not thinking just makes me apprehensive, and this makes me want to sleep and just dream about something, anything else.

Unsurprisingly, it's an immense relief when a tired-looking Gale finally comes back carrying a large bag. I'm not sure he's changed clothes since the last time I saw him. He apologizes for the delay since his last visit, sets the bag down, and then immediately gets back into explaining what happened.

"Now that you were finally out of the picture," he says, "the rest of us were able to get back to the work of fighting the war. There wasn't much to do- just the final extended assault on the Capitol. I was assigned to the young attractive hero team."

At this I raise my eyebrow. Gale looks confused for a minute, then laughs a little nervously, looking downward a bit.

"Ah, sorry. No, that's not the actual name of the group. I can never remember what the actual name is, I just think of it like that because that's who we were. Me, Katniss, Finnick, Johanna, other assorted handsome people who'd had a large screen presence in the propos, camera crews, and a few older, more experienced military officers in case we had to something besides routine operations. They might have asked you to join, too, except for all the obvious reasons why that would be a bad idea."

"So," I say, "I take it this wasn't an especially important operation?"

"Technically all military operations are important, in that people could shoot at you at any time. But were we doing cool things, like assassinating military commanders, destroying walls, shooting people, causing explosions? Not really, no. The Capitol had set up traps everywhere that unleashed bio-weapons whenever they were triggered. We would look for and disarm them. Usually in a very dramatic way so as to create usable footage."

"Traps, huh," I say, not really even to Gale. I don't have to think very hard about where they got the idea for that. I shudder a bit inside. How many of those things did they have just lying around from past Hunger Games where no one ever tripped over them? Keep an institution like that going for seventy-five years and there's bound to be leftovers, never mind whatever new monstrosities they could cook up.

I realize when I'm through thinking about this Gale's stopped talking. At first, it seems like he's just politely waiting for me, but "polite" and "waiting" are two words I've never heard anyone use in regards to Gale. He's thinking, too.

"You were saying?" I say, after letting him mull things over for another moment.

"Um, right," he says, momentarily flustered. "They were traps, definitely. One of them wasn't on our manifest, and we ended up hitting it. Well, not 'we' so much as our commanding officer. The rest of us were mostly all right, except for the fact that were Peacekeepers there hardly a minute after it went off and we had to make a mad dash for our lives. It was a mess, all of it. I don't know how we managed to crawl our way into an evacuated building behind enemy lines. It was the wrong direction to go, definitely, but when you're in a panic, you don't really have the luxury to think about that."

"Anyway," he continued, "entire block that we had been on before had been bombed completely to bits, so we figured the Capitol thought we were dead. The next question became what to do next. The sensible choice would have been to head back toward camp, since Capitol forces probably weren't looking for us anymore. This is what the remaining officer wanted to do. Katniss had a different idea. For reasons we'll never know, before he died the commanding officer gave Katniss the unit controls, delegating it to her voice command. She claimed that our unit had a special mission- sneak behind enemy lines and assassinate Snow, the basic logic being that they would never expect an apparently dead, largely propaganda-centered unit to engage in that kind of strike mission."

I nod my head. That certainly sounded like something Katniss would do given the situation. I can't say that I particularly blame her for it, either. There have been plenty of times that I wanted to go kill Snow. The main thing stopping me was that there was never a point where it would have been physically possible. If I had actually been in the Capitol, with a strike force armed and hostile to Snow, I probably would have gone along with it. Johanna's hatred alone would have been enough to make me feel like were unstoppable. There was a very real possibility that I would have been killed, but that was just a bonus.

"That's what we thought, too," he says, correctly guessing my thoughts. "We were only more sure when the broadcast aired stating that we were dead. And that's when you showed up."

"Wait," I say suddenly, my heart nearly stopping. "You saw me?" I realize this is a stupid question before I'm even finished. Kilo was transmitting that message mainly to the Capitol, so of course they could see it.

"Yeah," says Gale, nodding. "It was…unsettling to all of us. But especially Katniss. She'd spent a lot of time trying to avoid thinking about you, and there you were, not really talking to her, but clearly thinking of her, telling people not to get themselves killed." He paused here, with a look on his face that said he didn't want to mention this next part. "Later, after I came back, I looked over Katniss' plan tactically. It was a stupid idea. Even when I made conservative assumptions about the extent and danger of the traps from our position compared to Snow's location, at least half of us would have been killed. And even if we did get over there, we had no way of getting at Snow, who would have been guarded heavily."

"So what happened next?" I ask.

"Katniss didn't say anything for a minute or two. Then she suddenly speaks up and tells us that we're heading back. I thought, at first that we were just going back, telling our superiors what had happened, and then get to a less dangerous position while we waited for the war to end. But as we cross back through I realize that she has this very determined look on this face. That she had something more complicated in mind than that. Once we come back to our own safe encampment a loud cheer arises as soldiers gleefully realize that in spite of the Capitol's propaganda, we were still alive. Katniss is very brief and direct. She tells the first soldiers she meets to take her to the command center as she had important information and she needed to relay it directly to all soldiers in the field immediately. Of course, they complied immediately, and didn't even question why I needed to come with her. The communication center was in a tall building on the outskirts of the Capitol. It was one of the first positions we captured in the campaign, for exactly this reason. The commanders, glad to see she was still alive, agreed to her request to be put on live screen and also on audio loud enough to be heard everywhere in the city."

"On her way into the main room, she made a gesture to me that we used back when he hunted. 'Attack on opportunity'. Once we arrived inside the room, I quickly took out my rifle and whipped one of the guards. This left one guard, two officers, and one technician, all of whom I had on gunpoint. Katniss had hers out, too. She apologized, first thing, oddly enough. She said that she didn't like having to do this, but couldn't risk anyone trying to stop her. She only needed to make one very short, very clear message. I figured you should see her words for yourself, so I made arrangements.

Gale takes a portable viewscreen out of his bag, which I have to admit, surprises me very much. It has never been my understanding that people watch viewscreens because they actually want to outside of the Capitol. But he is right that I want to see this myself. He turns it on.

I see Katniss, and I immediately see something different about her, something that I've seen in myself these last several weeks when I wake up and look in the mirror. She looks dead, exhausted and weary. Her uniform is dirty and her rifle looks heavy in her hands. It's so completely at odds with how I've ever seen her before I feel taken aback. I'm amazed anyone would agree to film her like this.

"'Attention all Rebellion forces," she says, in a resigned, but very firm voice. "Pull back to your command stations and cease hostilities. Attention all Capitol forces. We will hold back our forces for exactly one hour. If by that time President Snow has been delivered to our embankment, we will accept your unconditional surrender. Otherwise, we will destroy you." She pauses, blinks slowly, and takes a deep breath. "The choice is yours."

And just like that, it's over. It seems much smaller and underspoken than the speech I gave, but I can't help but feel that her words had more of an impact. I look at Gale, and he immediately guesses my question.

"Katniss doesn't have any significant military rank, but since we had the communications hub under control, no one showed up to contradict her, and our forces withdrew. Forty-three minutes later a small group of unarmed civilians surrendered a bound and gagged Snow to our forces. And that, Peeta, is the story of how the war ended."

I feel a sense of relief roll over me. It actually worked. I can't believe it actually worked, to be entirely honest. I'd think this was a dream, but nothing nice like this ever happens in my dreams. And I can feel tears coming on. In my dreams I never get those kinds of feelings.

"The doctors say there's nothing wrong with you, Peeta," says Gale, picking the monitor up and heading toward the door. "You're going to be discharged tomorrow, so you should start thinking about what you want to do next. I recommend leaving District Thirteen."

"Yeah," I say, wiping one from my eye. "That sounds like a good idea."

Gale looked like he was about to leave, but he stops, and I can see the flicker of a smile on the edge of his face. I wonder what he's up to.

"It was a good trick, considering."

"Considering what?" I ask.

"That wasn't even the real locket," he says trying to stifle a laugh. "I helped make a new one because you needed a prop."

I can't help but laugh in return as he leaves. It really didn't matter, did it? This whole time I've felt so hopeless, not just during the war but ever since I was first reaped, but now that it looks like things might not be so horrible, certain facts not mattering actually seems like a good thing.


	25. Chapter 25

As I step outside the bunker of District Thirteen, I'm actually surprised to find that the air smells about the same as it did before. Somehow I guess I was expecting that everything was going to feel different, wonderful now that the war is over. I'm still happy, of course. The war being over is a substantial improvement over the alternative, but the overall situation doesn't really feel that different. The leadership that controlled District Thirteen, the ones who I basically betrayed, now control all of Panem, with a few minor adjustments. A war hero here, a qualified specialist there to augment weaknesses in District Thirteen's government. Most of them I've never heard of except for Kilo. He was valuable enough that they were willing to let him live, provided he pretend like my big speech was part of an elaborate plan so secret not even local security was allowed to know about it. He lets me know about all this as he walks me out to the train.

"And remember, Peeta," Kilo says, bug-eyed and sweating in insistence on this point, "whatever you do, don't say you were acting on your own."

I nod wearily. How the war was won wasn't really so important to me as the fact that it was won at all. I certainly owe Kilo this much. I still feel bad about using him the way I did. I can sense a fear from him when he talks about District Thirteen that just wasn't there before. Of course, in the same breath he jabbers on about all the great ideas he has that will be much easier to implement with the help of the engineers in District Three. Well, their eager help, anyway. They weren't quite as motivated when the Capitol just murdered the ones who didn't cooperate.

My plans, for the moment, are more direct. Kilo is leading me to the train station- trains no longer need escorts now that the war is over, and they traffic freely. Now that I have the chance, I'd like to see District Twelve again. Kilo tells me that a concerted effort is underway to rebuild the district. Only a hundred people or so have decided to move back and assist, but I want to see what progress they've made, if only because this population contains most of the people I know. When I arrive Kilo smiles and hurriedly waves me off. Glad as he is to see me, he has a lot of work to do now.

I get on the train shortly before it heads off and start looking for someone to talk to. It isn't long before I find Johanna with her head out the window, grimacing in the wind.

"What a disappointment," she says, without bothering to turn around, loudly so that I can hear her. "I got to do it myself. I messed it up on purpose, just so he could writhe on the floor for several minutes in utter agony. And I'm already sick of the feeling."

"Well, come on," I say, "you knew the war was going to end someday, didn't you?"

"I still don't think they suffered enough," she says bitterly, bringing her head back in. "Coin had this great idea, to run one more round of the Hunger Games for the children of the Capitol, just to show them who's boss. But it got voted down. That really stunk. I really wanted to kill Snow then. If he couldn't watch his granddaughter get brutalized, what was the point of even keeping him around?"

Suddenly, without any warning she jumps up and hugs me. I'm taken aback at first, but after those confusing first seconds I return the squeeze.

"That was all nonsense you said. You and I both know that there's no one waiting for me to come back," she says, whispering in my ear. "But it was a nice gesture."

We sit down and chat about various things. The other surviving tributes left almost immediately after Snow's execution to positions they had already accepted. Johanna had to stick around and argue with the government over what exactly her job was going to be. Johanna explains that she turned down a position in the cabinet so that she could represent District Seven in the new government. After what she did for the war effort she could have had any position she wanted, but I have to admit I like the way she puts it-

"Peeta, you, me, all of us, we're just screwed up kids looking for some peace of mind. We're not actually competent at much of anything. I know that I'm really good at being a complete bitch, and that's not a job that goes well with actually being in charge of anything."

When the train makes it to District Twelve, I wish Johanna luck in connecting with her constituents. In return she smiles. Not the vicious, hateful smile she usually goes for, but like she was actually glad to see me for a bit. I'm glad seeing it. It makes me hopeful that she'll find something nice for herself.

At the District Twelve station I find that I'm the only person on the platform as the train rushes off. I wasn't exactly expecting a welcoming committee, since I didn't really send advance notice of my arrival or anything, but the emptiness of my old hometown makes me feel a little empty inside. Right when I've decided which part of the slightly less destroyed area I want to check out first, I'm surprised with a hug from behind.

"Guess who!" cries the bright, cheery voice that could only possibly be Delly. I don't even bother saying her name as I turn around. I'm just glad she didn't cover my eyes, or I might have panicked badly.

I look her over. She's been in better shape, but she's not as bad as the last time I saw her. Delly's supporting herself with crutches, and it's obvious that only her incredible force of will is what's allowing her to hold on to me like this. I have to help her back onto them.

"So!" she says, "why don't you look over the town and see what we've done?"

She leads me on a tour. I have to admit, most of it doesn't really look that good. Several buildings that before couldn't have even weathered a rainstorm can now weather a rainstorm, but that's about it. And yet for every single one of them Delly has an elaborate story involving names of people with elaborate stories of their own of how they survived the war and came back and gained the willpower to put up a few walls on a mostly destroyed house. It's actually pretty inspirational. I half expect camera crews to be lurking around somewhere, but somehow I doubt motivating the people is quite so important now that it's not a matter of immediate life and death.

When we get to the victor village, the only part of District Twelve that's still intact, Delly tells me that I should get acquainted with what's going on here myself and hobbles off, shouting words of encouragement at some distant rebuilding effort. I wonder how many of the people here now only came because of Delly. If I had to guess, probably most of them.

At Haymitch's house I walk in to see Haymitch wearing, of all things, a nice suit. He's well-groomed. His hair looks clean. And I don't think I smell liquor anywhere. I must stand there for at least a minute just staring at him. He just stands there motionless, until his face finally breaks out laughing.

"Ha! It was worth it! I should have left yesterday, but just to see the look on your face when I'm wearing this garbage, fantastic!"

Haymitch gives me a clap on the back. He's decided that Johanna has the right idea, and that the best thing he can do for Panem right now is to accept a job with no significant responsibilities, and act as the belligerent representative of District Twelve. There seems to be some minor disagreement over whether Johanna or Haymitch came up with the idea first, and who exactly was copying whom, but it's not a big deal to me. It's a bit of a relief, from my perspective anyway. We sit and chat with each other for awhile. I feel like there's something I need to let him know.

"Haymitch, you might be a jerk, but I think I'm all right with that."

"Of course you are," he snorts. "In the long run it keeps working out, doesn't it?"

We sit in silence for a moment. It's a nice silence, not awkward at all. I'm glad that I got to know Haymitch as someone besides the stupid drunk at every year's Reaping. I doubt very much he's going to stay sober for much of his government work, but I'm all right with that. After the Capitol, I think our new society needs people who make partying not seem like such a good idea.

"You should know, Peeta," he says, ending the silence, "that she's here, over in her house. I think she'd like to have a talk with you."

I nod my head and make myself get up, moving the short distance it takes to get to Katniss' house. On the first floor there's no one there but that scraggly cat Buttercup. He looks at me and yawns, deciding to go to sleep. I think of how wonderful it is that there's been someone, this whole time, who genuinely did not care what I thought about or what I've been doing. It's a nice feeling to just feel unimportant for a moment, especially now that I have to go upstairs, and face the one person that I've been avoiding this entire time.


	26. Chapter 26

I walk in on Katniss as she's looking through a book. She barely seems to notice me and I almost step out. Right as I'm considering this she suddenly looks up in surprise.

"Peeta?"

Her tone is tepid, and she sounds surprised. Almost immediately she starts looking around nervously, At first I don't quite know what's gotten into her, but then I figure it out.

"There's no camera crews," I say. "I'm not sure anyone much cares what I do anymore. How about you?"

"Ha," Katniss laughs nervously. "I've got great plans, I'm sure you can see. Here in my little house, all alone, out in the middle of nowhere."

"That's not fair," I say. "This is your home, isn't it?"

Katniss sighs and stands up. She's wearing the same clothes that I saw in the broadcast, and judging from the smell in the room, she hasn't bothered cleaning them that whole time, either. I don't really mind that much, since I like Katniss' scent, but most people would be looking for an excuse to leave the room right now.

"I don't even know why I bother to stick around," she says, meandering around the room. "I liked the little shack where I grew up with my sister. Oh, it was miserable, but living somewhere like that, you don't forget where you came from. It was probably destroyed in the first wave of bombs. That's a pretty good metaphor, don't you think?"

"You don't need to be so bleak," I say. "The war's over now, so maybe-"

Before I'm even able to finish that sentence Katniss marches over very quickly and abruptly slaps me on the right cheek, extremely hard. She grimaces at me.

"Do you have any idea what's actually been going on, Peeta?" she yells. "They were going to kill you!"

"Ow," I say, turning my face around, stroking the hit area. "Yeah, I knew about that. After all I did I'm surprised they-"

Just as quickly I feel another strike across my other cheek. Even though it hurts I actually kind of enjoy the sudden sharp relief. Ever since I woke up in the hospital all I've felt are headaches, tired eyes, and maybe the occasional funny feeling in the back of my mouth. it might hurt being slapped, but it at least makes me feel alive.

"What is wrong with you!" she says angrily. "After all the work we went through trying to keep you alive you were just going to throw it all away on some stupid gesture?"

"Well, maybe you have a point," I say, rubbing my face all around. "I guess if they had caught you instead, you would have done a better job of staying out of danger, right?"

Katniss walks away from me, back to her chair, still grimacing at me the whole time. For what it's worth, I don't think I had really grasped the hypocrisy of this entire arrangement until just this moment, either. We are two people living in constant disagreement over which one should live and which one should die, and not for the logically obvious reason.

"All right, fine, there's no camera crews," Katniss says, sitting back down, still looking at me. "Then I'll be frank. The main reason I want you to live so badly is because it was all my fault. It's been dangerous for us ever since the beginning, but it was more dangerous for you because you kept trying to protect me. Do you have any idea the burden that put on me? If you had just acted sensibly and played the game to win, you would have just been another symbol of the miserable world we live in. But then you saved my life and nearly got yourself killed, and then...then it was my fault that you couldn't win it all for yourself!"

Katniss slams her clenched fist on the table so loud that it nearly scares me. I try to ignore it and respond as forcefully as I can.

"It wasn't just about you. Every year twenty-three tributes died in those games. No one from District Twelve ever won. I did the math and realized that no matter how optimistic I was, I wasn't going to win. But if I worked to help you win, that was something I could do for my home district. The fact that you were the girl I was in love with only made the decision easier."

I see her wince visibly as she turns away from me. For a brief moment, she doesn't say anything but then, nearly at a whisper, it comes out-

"Don't use that word," she says.

"Which one?" I ask, confused.

"Love," she says, shuddering. "I know you mean it, but I just don't know." I open my mouth to say something, but she stops me. "And stop being so reasonable and understanding! I'm sick of that, too! It's why I can't let you die! If just once you could be mean, or spiteful, or jealous, or anything else I could have told myself you weren't my responsibility. Who told you to always act so noble all the time, anyway?"

"My dad," I say, quietly.

Several minutes pass where neither of us say anything. There's probably never going to be that magic moment, where one of us says something and everything just turns out all right. It would take a lot of time to work out those issues, and I think to myself that Katniss might have a point. It doesn't matter how nice and patient I am if I'm putting her in pain just by being around. I prepare to let myself out, but Katniss stands up.

"Wait, not yet," she says. "I'm sorry. Can we talk about something else?"

"Like what?" I say, dubiously.

"What were you planning to do now that the war's over?"

"Well," I say cautiously, "I was thinking about traveling."

"Where?"

"Anywhere but here's fine," I say. "I'm tired of having everyone know who I am."

"Really..." Katniss says, suspiciously distantly. Like she's pretending not to pay attention. I eye her suspiciously until she notices and sighs.

"Well, to be honest, I was...thinking about doing the same thing," she says. I give her another look. "It's not as big a deal as it sounds. They don't really have any use for me now that the rebellion's over, either.

"Is that because they didn't offer you a job, or-"

"No," she admits. "There's plenty of things for me to do if I wanted to. I could go with my mother and sister, building hospitals around Panem. I could take that job Gale wanted me for in District Two. I could probably get in on a political cabinet in District Thirteen. Or I could just stay here in District Twelve and help with rebuilding. But if I do any of those things, it will be as the Mockingjay. I'd really rather be Katniss."

"But what about your friends and family?" I ask. "The whole point of all this was to get you back to them safely, and now you're just going to leave them? Were you even listening to my speech?"

"Oh, of course," she says, nodding. "The problem with what I was doing before was that I was willing to let myself get killed for some grander purpose. Well, the war's over. And we don't have to deal with any more of these horribles dilemmas of who lives and who dies. If I leave, for the first time, I can promise everyone that I'll come back alive. Saying good-bye to my mother was easier than I thought it would be. Prim's too worried about me to leave right away, but knowing I can make the same promise to her when the time comes makes me feel better."

Watching her talk just now I see something that wasn't there when we were discussing our situation. Katniss is at peace. It's not a permanent one, but after all that's happened, it seems like a nice place to be. It's nice to know I'm not the only one who doesn't like being a symbol of some larger thing. Katniss is about to sit back down, but I have to interrupt her.

"Hey," I say, "if we both want to go out, why don't we do it together? Give Panem one last propo- Peeta and Katniss journey into the wild beyond, to make contact with new civilizations."

Katniss gives me a skeptical look. I know it sounds awful, but I've had time to think over the particulars.

"I don't think we can live up to anyone's standards," I say, "but if we're just symbols from afar, expecting to come back to a nice, peaceful, conflict-free Panem, maybe they'll work a little harder making sure that when we get back, this will be a place worth being proud of."

She considers this a moment, and ends up standing up, walking right past me. At first I think she's just ignoring me, but then she calls out for me.

"Come on, Peeta. We need to get this in writing."

I catch up to her quickly as she comes down the stairs. Buttercup wakes up, annoyed at the sudden noise, but quickly goes back to sleep. She leads me to the dining room and lays a whole bunch of papers on the table.

"One thing before we start," she says, holding her hand up. "I noticed a dead flower upstairs when I first came back here. Do you know what that was about?"

I shake my head. I think, in retrospect, that there probably was a good explanation for that, but dwelling on the misery of our past lives seems silly at this point. We can't change what happened. We just need to try to focus as much as we can on the future.


	27. Chapter 27

It takes us about a week to complete and submit the proposal for an exploratory team to travel outside of Panem and search for other forms of human life. At first we were worried that, with all the emphasis on rebuilding Panem, the proposal would just be lost in the shuffle, but it ends up getting approved almost immediately and soon Katniss and I find ourselves interviewing prospective assistants for the journey. The fact that this journey requires, by necessity, that whoever joins us be away from Panem and their families, possibly for years, grants us a misanthropic talent pool to choose from. Most of them either have no families, or they've done things during the war that they'd rather not think about anymore. Once we've determined what kind of skills they have, we ask them about their desire to live. Those that express, without flinching, the desire to kill themselves if it meant saving the lives of me or Katniss, we politely dismiss. In the end, the ten individuals we select all come from the districts that didn't have access to propaganda until the war was nearly over because their screens couldn't be accessed. These were the ones who I did not see on the propaganda tour. They had better things to do than loll about on camera, and on this trip, we're going to need people who can stay sane after extended periods of time without new, pleasant human company.

Once everyone has been assembled we engage in constant training for the next few weeks. Out in the middle of the nowhere, all twelve of us have to stick around to test our true survival skills. It's nowhere near as difficult as the Hunger Games, mostly because nothing is trying to kill us. Even so, I'm cheating a little bit because I'm always with Katniss, who can not only catch food she knows how to cook it, too, although these are relatively new skills so she's not that good at it yet. Ostensibly, the reason I stay near her is so that I can test the cooking for her in a real survival environment, but I would probably fail my own test if I wasn't able to lean on her for help. Of course, that's just how we look at it when we're together. Everyone else still has the same idea as usual, of us being star-crossed and inseparable. They can think what they want- it doesn't make much of a difference anymore.

As we expected, only five of the recruits actually stick around to finish the process. The others, hungry and tired, radio in for a hoverplane to pick them up. The rest of us, at the end of it all, don't really look all that great, but we're alive, and could probably stay that way as long as necessary. A couple of them actually seem surprised that we're not going to hold out the survival training for even longer, but Katniss doesn't really care much for extended practice, not when we're just about ready to try for the real thing.

I think the main reason Katniss is in a hurry to go is that we've found a mild, but somewhat effective remedy for her nightmares. Among the basic supplies we brought out there was a sleeping bag that she tells me is the exact same type as what she would sleep with Rue in back during that brief time in the Hunger Games, although she says this one is a bit bigger. She can't help it any more than I can- sleeping and waking up outside inevitably brings that moment of fear where we're convinced that we're still back there. But for her, she at least wakes up into a part of that nightmare that was a reprieve, so she calms down more quickly when she realizes where we really are. She doesn't adjust quite so well the first night we're back. I hear her screaming all the way from my house, and have to go over there to calm her down.

From this point it's a matter of stocking the correct provisions, maximizing the space that we have to go forward. We'd made it clear from the beginning that we could only take as many supplies as would fit in one hoverplane, or else we would just be too overburdened. While there's the sleeping bag for me and Katniss, everyone else willingly makes do with basic cots and mats. We prepare a very large and sturdy wagon, simply because the easiest way for us to move anything out there is with wheels, and pack it with high-nutrient dry foods that will keep over a long trip. We also take many guidebooks to plant life, including the one Katniss and I were working on- our plan is to copy most of the relevant information from the other books into our own, so that we can ditch them for more space and less weight. There's a radio, too. We can only hope that anyone we meet out there has a radio, just in case they might run into travelers like us. There are more odds and ends, but we're the real essentials to this trip. Our tools are only as good as we are.

With all this underway, all that's left is to set off. Unfortunately, this means we have to make one last propo. When Plutarch comes to see us personally, to explain the importance, I feel very annoyed.

"We've been letting you film us the whole time," I say. "Everybody knows where we're going."

"Yes, but they don't know why," Plutarch insists. "The Mockingjay and the Locket can't just leave Panem without some people worrying about what it means for all of us."

"You mean," says Katniss, coldly, "that you and Coin are worried that people will think we're abandoning Panem because we don't trust you to rule it. Isn't that right?"

Katniss has taken a very cynical view of the government. Prim tells me that Katniss was furious when she discovered that Prim had joined a medical corps unit shortly before the final assault, and that she'd been near the Capitol on what was to be the last day of fighting. Prim was only thirteen- a special exception had been made to let her join, likely on the basis of her being Katniss' sister, but without Katniss' permission. I'd like to tell Katniss she's being paranoid, but all she could have to do is point out the plan to kill me, and I would probably have to admit that her concern is warranted.

"All right," says Plutarch, throwing up his hands, "so what if we are? We're the only government that Panem has right now, and we're not doing that bad a job. Do you really want to leave us all in poor spirits because you didn't say good-bye?"

Katniss winces. I know that she's already spent a lot of time saying good-bye to everyone. I have a bit, too, but I don't know as many living people well as Katniss does. It is a bit of an insulting idea, a televised good-bye that will override the genuine ones, but Plutarch's request isn't that unreasonable.

"We'll think it over," I say.

As he leaves, there's a hint of a smile on Plutarch's face. He knows what we know, really- that if we think this over long, we'll realize we really don't have any choice. As he leaves, I turn to Katniss.

"They'll probably let us change whatever part of the script we want."

"No, forget it," she says. "The less we have to deal with them, the better. Let's just go along with with it."

"Um, are you sure?" I'd read over the script, and most of it was actually fairly brief. They weren't going to detain us long. But the bit right at the end I was sure Katniss wouldn't accept at all.

"It's just a stupid propo," she says, waving her hand. "Once we're finished with it, we're done with everything."

I nod in quiet agreement. I realize that night, as I sleep next to her trying to calm down her nightmares, that I'm not worried about how she'll react to it. I'm worried how it's going to make me feel.

During the actual ceremony, I find that it's actually very easy to just zone out and ignore everything that's being said. All the people either of us have had much time with take a moment to talk about what makes us so great, and how we're sure to finish our mission successfully, and all that. I smile in turn at everyone who steps out, but it feels obnoxiously artificial compared to our last meetings. Finally, it's time for me and Katniss to step up. I feel self-conscious and gaudy, standing in front of a hoverplane that could have left half an hour ago except that we had to sit here and listen to a bunch of random compliments.

"Everyone," I say calmly, "we thank you for your thoughts and good graces."

"We promise," says Katniss, "to come back to you alive."

"Make sure that when we get back, Panem will be a home to be proud of."

With that it's time for the moment. But rather than happening right away, first Katniss grabs me in a hug, her face away from where the cameras can see it.

"Peeta, I just want you to know," she says, "that if this ever happens again, I promise that I'll really mean it."

Katniss faces me head on, and as I hold her in my arms, we kiss. I can't really focus on the moment. I know that the crowd is enjoying it from the way they're crying, and that whoever's watching via view screen will probably love it, too. The feeling that's more memorable to me is the sense of purpose I feel right before I let go, when Katniss takes my hand in hers as we prepare to step on to the hover plane. Whatever happens to us next, I feel that there are enough trustworthy people left in Panem that this purpose will not be forgotten.


	28. Epilogue

It's been eleven months since we first left Panem, nine since we've reached the point of no-radio return, although nobody back home knows it yet. We knew when the trip was first plotted that we would have to go beyond the contact range if we were going to find anyone else, simply because if anyone else had radio technology in our radius we wouldn't need to meet them on-foot in the first place. So to keep people from worrying, the government made sure to release "new" tapes just often enough that it seems we're all right, even if we aren't, necessarily.

I was worried at first that this trip would be a suicidal venture, but between the seven of us we've had few problems. There's enough edible fruit and berries out here that we've never had to worry about testing something unfamiliar, and we've never had any trouble finding rivers to follow. Every water source we run out of, we find a new one before half of our reserves have been depleted. As far as wild animals and meat is concerned, none of the animals out here seem to have seen humans before. Time and again Katniss would complain of how easy it was to find food. By making sure we never leave anyone alone what few predators we've run into have been easily killed or scared away.

We finally make some headway into our mission when one day, something truly bizarre happens. As we approach an open field, making some light rustling sounds in the bushes, animals we can only barely see in the distance hurriedly run away. This, we all quickly agree, is a good sign. We set up camp right in the middle of the field, making our apparent location obvious and bide our time until nightfall. When everything is at its most silent, we set off a firework. We only brought a dozen with us – small as they are, every bit of space is precious. In each location we think might be viable, we launch two of them half an hour apart, so that any other people don't just think it's a strange random noise. We figured from the start that if there was anyone out here, we'd find them within our first six best guesses.

That first night, we don't meet anyone. A week later, when we run across an old, probably forgotten cart, we don't meet anyone then, either. But ten days after that, when we run across an actively used pump in the river we're following, that's when it happens. Through a light in the distance, we see people coming to meet us.

Of course, there's only three of us here actually at the camp. The others, including Katniss, are hidden in shrubbery nearby in case things go bad, but I'm trying to think optimistically. I have an easy time of it when I see four figures approach. When they see the light at our camp, the one holding a lamp starts waving.

I take a deep breath. Technically I'm the least qualified person to be on this trip- I didn't survive the Hunger Games because of my outdoorsmanship. But, I'm told that I'm a good talker. And now after all this time is my chance to really do some good. No, make some good. Because for the first time in a long time, if things go badly, I'm free to just cut my losses and go home.

This is the story author writing now. As you can see (and as I'd like to confirm), the story is now done. My motivation for writing this has been pretty simple- I was trying to see how well I could convey a sense of general despair (and eventually, hope) using an established set of characters not my own. How well I did, honestly, I'm not sure. I tried multiple different storytelling tracks in this story, and while I tried to keep things consistent thematically, there's only so much to be done. Peeta may be an established character, but I'm not the one who came up with him, hence the flaws as I second-guess myself.

I'd like to thank everyone's who read this story, generally, but particularly those who offered negative criticism- word to the wise, knowing what you do poorly is how you improve as a writer. I don't know right now if or when I'll do another story, but it won't be set in the Hunger Games universe, though you might be able to expect a similar emphasis on basic themes. Until that happens, I hope you enjoyed, to some extent at least, my story.


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